If That Mockingbird Don't Sing
by SSAEmilyHotchner
Summary: Just when it seems as if nothing could go wrong in the lives of Emily and Aaron Hotchner, everything does. When they are forced to suffer the loss of a precious baby boy, how will they possibly cope? Will love persevere, or come to an unfortunate end? NOW COMPLETE.
1. Breathe

**Author's Note: Just when I thought my mind was becoming a less depressing place, this story idea popped into my head and refused to go away until I let it manifest onto the page. Like with my other epic,_ Fade to Black_, this story, too, will be trying, and its themes will be even more so. There will be loss, and emotions will be rife. But I can promise you; reading and reviewing this story will be worth your time, because I fully intend to make it as beautiful as can be. It will seem sad at times, and yes, maybe you'll cry...but the ending will be happy, and I hope that's all that matters. **As always, thank you so much for reading! Feedback would be much appreciated.****

**Genre: Romance/Tragedy/Drama/Angst**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters.**

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><p>Lying back in bed, her eyes shut and her lips curved into a placated smile, Emily absentmindedly ran her fingers through her husband's thick hair, sighing as he continued what he had been doing for the past half hour - showering her pregnant belly with reverent kisses.<p>

"You doing okay?" he asked for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

"Mmmm, Aaron…I'm absolutely perfect," she said, her eyes fluttering open. She managed a quiet laugh. "Granted, I would _love_ it if this little one would just come out already."

Hotch chuckled. "Someone didn't get the memo that his due date was yesterday," he said lightly.

"Tell me about it."

"Come on, Michael," Hotch coaxed lovingly. "How about we give Mommy some time off?"

Both husband and wife erupted into laughter as their son responded with a swift kick.

"Michael," Hotch chided, grinning. "You silly boy."

"Michael?" Emily echoed, tears coming to her eyes. "I thought you wanted a James."

Moving up the bed to lie beside her, Hotch lazily kissed her lips. "I gave it some thought, and realized that your Michael sounds better than my James. Or…he could be Michael James Hotchner," he suggested, smiling at the thought of sharing his middle name with his soon-to-be born son.

Emily bit her lip, deep in thought. "What about James Michael?" she countered softly. "I like the way it sounds," she said wistfully, smiling once more.

"James Michael? I like it," Hotch said, nodding. "We'd still call him Michael?"

Emily grinned. "Of course."

They shared one last kiss. "Then I think it's perfect. James Michael Hotchner; it's a good name. Strong. It's a _man's_ name."

Emily breathed out a little laugh. "It sure is." Resting her head against Hotch's shoulder, it seemed that she was drifting off to sleep until she spoke once more. This time, her voice was more…hushed. "Everything's going to be okay, right?"

Unwillingly, the same frightening memory came to mind for both of them. Emily, six months pregnant, on her last week of active duty, going into a house without backup…their unsub, appearing seemingly out of thin air…tackling her to the ground…pushing her gun far away…kicking her, over and over and _over_ again. Her chest, her ribs, her stomach…

Her stomach.

_Michael._

Even almost four months later, Emily instinctively brought down a hand to shield her stomach. _There had been so much blood…_ "Michael's going to be okay?" she asked again.

Hearing the innate fear in her voice, Hotch pulled Emily as close to him as possible, needing the reassurance himself. "Remember? We visited Doctor Harper that night and she said you were absolutely fine. The ultrasound showed nothing but a healthy, beautiful baby." He rested his forehead against hers. "Everything's going to be okay."

At that, Emily managed a smile - albeit a small one. "I'm glad."

~.~.~

The surprisingly spacious hospital room was filled with yet another startlingly loud scream.

"You're doing so well, Emily, sweetheart," Hotch crooned in encouragement as he hovered beside her. He could hardly think straight; he hadn't been able to since Emily's water broke a mere hour or two earlier. "That's it," he nodded as she took in a deep breath and held it, bracing herself for her next contraction. "Just like that, sweetheart."

Emily's eyes, which had been fluttering closed at the sound of her husband's placating voice, immediately shot open once more. _"God!"_ she yelled, her face scrunched up in pain. Her grip on Hotch's hand tightened exponentially. "Oh, God, oh, God, _oh_ -"

"You're dilated more than nine centimeters now, Emily," a kind young nurse informed with a smile on her face. "Only a few more minutes until we start pushing, alright?"

Hotch grinned. "Did you hear that, sweetheart? Only a few more minutes until you get to see Michael," he said appealingly.

"Michael…" Emily breathed. "My sweet Michael."

"That's right," Hotch said, squeezing her hand in support. A tender beat of silence passed. "I don't know if I've told you this before, but…" he swallowed thickly, "you're going to be an amazing mother, Emmy."

Tears sprung to her eyes. "You really think so?"

"I _know_ so."

"But what if I - oh, holy shit!"

"Alright, Emily, it's time," the nurse announced, situating herself at the foot of Emily's bed.

The moment Emily was preparing to push, however, something unexpected happened.

Emily clutched at her heart in pain. "Oh, God, it hurts," she moaned, her expression shocked as she struggled to take in a steadying breath of air.

"Emily?" Hotch's eyes were wide. "What's going on?" he asked; to himself, to her, to the nurse.

"I…can't _breathe_," she managed, wheezing at the same time. _"Aaron -"_

"Move aside, sir," a doctor urged as he came rushing in the room.

"But -"

_The baby._

Hotch barely heard the nurse calling out for epinephrine over the ominously slowing _beep-beep-beep_ of the heart monitor when suddenly, the doctor was plunging a needle into Emily's thigh.

"What are you - "

And suddenly, as if nothing at all had happened...Emily could breathe again.

Hotch felt his heart rate gradually return to normal. Grabbing onto an armchair for much needed support, he willed himself to calm down. However, with the knowledge that _anything _could have happened to Emily in the split second that had passed...

...it was just too much.

Slowly but surely, her eyes fluttered open.

"Aaron?"

He stumbled forward. "I'm right here, Em," he breathed, his eyes wide with apprehension.

"What happened? _Oh_ my God, Michael," she gasped.

"Let's have one big strong push, alright, Emily?" the nurse asked, her smile somewhat more guarded this time.

They were all on edge, and understandably so.

"One push?" Emily echoed. "I can do that," she told herself. "I can -" The resulting pain from the contraction knocked the wind out of her.

Hotch pressed a kiss to her sweaty forehead. "One more push, sweetheart. One more."

She grimaced. "But...what if I can't?" she asked quietly, her voice almost scared. She wanted to be able to do this; she _had_ to be able to do this. To prove to herself that, despite her one missed chance in Rome, she really could have the future she wanted. She really could have the _baby _she wanted.

"You can; I know you can," Hotch assured. "Emily, I love you so much, and I am absolutely confident that you can do this."

"I love..._oh, Jesus Christ!_...you, too, Aaron," she cried.

"I can see the head!" the nurse cried out jubilantly. "Once more, Emily; that's it." Unbeknownst to both Emily and Hotch, the doctor who had previously come dashing into the room was still there, standing in the corner of the room anxiously, hoping that nothing would go wrong. Her near heart failure had been a scare, and the health of the baby...

"Just one more push," Hotch echoed.

"You said that last time!" Emily protested, barely able to think through the haze of pain wracking her body.

"I know, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I mean it this time, though, I really do," Hotch pleaded.

"I can't do it," Emily screamed in a passionate combination of both exasperation and frustration. Tears were now streaming down her flushed cheeks. "I just can't."

Hotch took both her hands in his. "Please, baby; for me? For _Michael_. You _can_ do it."

And just like that, with one last scream, one last push...James Michael Hotchner was born.

Emily's head fell back against the pillows in exhaustion, her chest heaving with the sudden onslaught of oxygen flooding her lungs. "Oh," she sighed, smiling weakly as the nurse cradled Michael in her arms. Her and Hotch's gazes met. "I did it," she gasped, almost in disbelief.

"You did it," Hotch said proudly, his eyes shining with unshed tears and absolute adoration.

"_We_ did it," she amended, the lines in her forehead smoothing out as she made an effort to relax. "Look at him," she gushed.

"He's beautiful," Hotch said in awe, his voice hushed.

They were enjoying the brief moment of perfection when, suddenly, Emily realized that something was off. Despite the hushed clamoring of nurses as they hovered over Michael, it was eerily quiet.

Too quiet.

Emily's next breath came out in a stifled sob that had Hotch rocking back on his heels in worry. "Why isn't my baby crying?"

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><p><strong><strong>Author's Note: Thank you sincerely for taking the time to read. If you have the time, please leave a review; no matter short or long, signed or anonymous, they are the best motivation and inspiration for me, and I treasure them like the finest gold. Stay tuned for the next chapter!<strong>**


	2. Welcome to the World

**Author's Note: Happier, lighter chapter this time, since we all need some fluff in our systems. I sure hope you enjoy! As always, thanks so much for reading. **

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

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><p><em>"Why isn't my baby crying?"<em>

The air in the room was charged with tension as Emily's and Hotch's gazes met. Yet another sob was torn from the former's throat. _Please_, she prayed desperately. _Please, God_. _I know I haven't been the best or purest of your children. I know I've done so much wrong in my life. But please let Michael live. Please…let me have this one last chance. _

_Please._

The distressed clamor of the nurses only increased in volume, however.

Emily rolled to her side and fisted a hand into Hotch's sweat-dampened shirt. _"No_," she wailed, her eyes unfocused and frenzied as tear after tear cascaded down her porcelain cheeks. _"Michael," _she whispered, her voice hoarse. _"My baby."_

Hotch was trembling, physically unable to fathom the thought of losing his son, when they heard it.

A jubilant cry permeating the air.

Emily gasped, a hand flying up to cover her mouth in disbelief. "Oh my God," she breathed, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. Beside her, Hotch was wiping away his tears; tears of momentary sadness, tears of relief, tears of absolute joy. "Oh my God, Aaron," she said again, laughing a little this time. Her mind was still reeling from the onslaught of so many emotions; but Michael was _alive._

Hotch held Emily close to him and pressed a kiss to her temple. "We did it," he repeated, his eyes shining. "Look at him," he said in awe. "Just…look."

It was as if a collective sigh of relief had been breathed out by everyone in the room; nurses and doctors alike. When the fresh and clean baby boy was brought over to his parents, everyone was wearing a smile on their face, memories of past traumas long gone. "Congratulations," Emily's young nurse grinned happily. "He's beautiful."

And he was. Taking Michael into her arms, Emily felt her heart melt at the sight of her newborn son. He was pink-faced and wrinkly and squirming about in her embrace…but he was the most beautiful sight both Emily and Hotch had ever seen.

Slowly, ever so gently, Emily caressed the newborn, her thumb running affectionately over the contours of Michael's small, chubby arms. "Hi, Michael, sweetheart," she cooed, her voice almost inaudible in the large room. "Oh, you're just the most precious baby boy, aren't you?" She kissed his little nose, her eyes crinkling at the corners when a little fussing sound was caught in the back of his throat. Michael had long since stopped crying; the moment he had been placed in his mother's arms, he had become blissfully quiet. Almost…_entranced_ at the sight of the big people hovering curiously around him.

"I love you," Emily said tenderly. "My beautiful, perfect baby boy." She shook her head as she gazed at him; he was such a blessing, such a miracle.

_Thank you, God. _

She smiled down, once again, at Michael. "Your daddy wants to say hi to you, sweet boy. He's so excited…" Shooting Hotch her most loving glance, she carefully hoisted Michael into his waiting arms.

Hotch felt the air whoosh out of his lungs as he gazed at the perfection that was his son. "Hi there, buddy," he said, his voice wavering as he smiled. "Your mommy and I are so happy to see you," he said sweetly, giving Michael a kiss on his forehead. He swallowed thickly. "I love you so much, Michael. _So much. _And you know what? When we take you home, you get to see your big brother. His name's Jack and I know he can't wait to meet you."

Emily smiled contentedly as she watched her husband and son; her two favorite boys. "He looks like you," she said softly.

Hotch tore his gaze from the newborn. Slowly, he moved so that he was sitting at the foot of Emily's bed. "He does," he said proudly, nodding to himself. "He has your eyes, though. And your nose."

"He's so beautiful."

Their gazes met. "He is." They watched, enraptured, as Michael burrowed deep into his blanket. "We brought him into the world, Emily," Hotch said, his voice warm. He laughed a little, overcome with emotion. "Can you believe it? Something so precious…"

Emily closed her eyes in blissful satisfaction. "We did it," she breathed.

"Welcome to the world, James Michael Hotchner."

~.~.~

"Dad, can I talk to you really quickly?"

Standing from where Michael was nursing, Hotch turned to see the doctor peeking his head into the room. "Of course," he said, clearing his throat. He gave Emily a handsome, parting glance. "I'll be right back, okay, Em?"

"Okay," she responded, all her attention still on her hungry little boy.

Hotch stepped out of the room, a curious expression on his face. "Is…everything alright?" he asked hopefully, his expression careful.

The doctor made sure to give Hotch a reassuring smile. "Everything is fine," he said placatingly. "I just wanted to talk to you for a second, tell you a couple things regarding the rest of Emily's hospital care. Because of Emily's near heart and organ failure, we want to keep her – and the baby – under close supervision for the next two or three days. As of this moment, we are sure nothing is wrong; we just want to take every precaution so we can get you all home safe. Understood?"

Hotch nodded slowly. "Understood. And…you're sure there were no complications in the pregnancy?"

"Emily and Michael are fine," the doctor said knowingly, smiling.

Hotch nodded once more, visibly soothed this time. "Okay," he said, more to himself than anyone else. He, too, cracked a small smile. "Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it."

"Of course. Have a nice night."

"You, too." Turning away, Hotch re-entered Emily's hospital room, his heart swelling as he was greeted by a beautiful smile.

"Hi," Emily said simply, patting the space of bed beside her. "What did the doctor want?" she queried, absentmindedly stroking Michael's small back.

He leaned in to let his lips flirt lazily with hers. "They want us to stay here for at least two more days," he said between kisses, "to make sure you and Michael are absolutely, one hundred percent okay."

Emily nodded idly, forcing herself to not dwell on the topic any further. She didn't need to think about when she had been attacked, or her near organ failure, or Michael, not making a sound…

She shivered.

Hotch chuckled at Michael, who was still nursing contentedly. "He's a hungry little fellow, isn't he?"

Emily threw her head back in laughter as Hotch's stomach grumbled uncontrollably. "Looks like his daddy is, too."

Hotch joined in her laughter. "What can I say? Like father, like son. It's a shame the cafeteria isn't open; I could use some tasteless meat loaf. I mean, it wasn't tasteless…it just kind of tasted _a lot_ like cardboard."

Emily covered her mouth to restrain her uproarious laughter, lest she upset Michael. "You could always get something to eat from the ridiculously overpriced vending machines down the hall."

Hotch smirked. "I think I'll pass."

"You sure?" Emily sobered as she truly gazed at her husband. "In all seriousness, Aaron…you look exhausted. Go home and get some rest," she ordered gently.

Hotch rested his forehead against hers. "You're kidding me, right?" Emily kissed the corner of his mouth, and hummed quietly against his skin. "No, sweetheart…I'm staying right here."

Emily's expression softened, if possible, even more. "You're the best," she said sincerely, smiling tiredly. "I love you."

"As I love you." Together, they watched as their son drifted to sleep. "And Michael as well."

"And sweet Michael as well."

~.~.~

"Don't plan on getting any sleep from now on," Hotch quipped, holding their front door open.

Emily ambled through to their living room, a placated Michael in her arms. "I wasn't planning any such thing," she said in return, laughing it off. "Besides," she gazed down at her little bundle of joy, "it's worth it."

"It is," Hotch agreed, setting their bags down. With a quick kiss to Emily's lips, he motioned over to the side. "Why don't you go on and head over to the nursery to settle in? I'll join you in a second."

"You're sure?"

"Of course, Emmy."

So, meandering down the hall, Emily and Michael made their way to the nursery. Standing in the doorway, Emily had to take a minute to drink in the sight before her. It wasn't the first time she was seeing the nursery; but that didn't make it any less beautiful.

The walls were a pretty sky blue, and decorated, in white, with the large stenciled figures of an elephant and giraffe. Michael's white crib was in the corner of the room, near the picture window, and was adorned with a multitude of stuffed animals which had been gifts from the team; lions, tigers, dinosaurs, hippos, and zebras, Michael had them all. The ceiling was painted as if in a circus tent, with alternating blue and white stripes. On the opposite wall were pictures, in black and white, with pale yellow frames, of Hotch, of Emily, of Jack, of all three of them together. These were positioned around an empty picture frame in the middle, where Michael's handsome portrait would soon be. Under the pictures was a small white bookcase, next to which was situated a comfortable, cream-colored rocking chair.

The plush, pale yellow carpet soft beneath her toes, Emily strode over to the rocking chair and slowly lowered herself into it.

"Oh," she moaned quietly as she relaxed the muscles of her back. Michael squirmed slightly, but remained asleep, oblivious to the tears pooling in his mother's eyes. "I love you, Michael," Emily said, her voice hushed. "These last few days have been long, I know, but it's all worth it; _you're_ worth every effort imaginable. Thank you for being the greatest blessing I could ever ask for."

Emily didn't realize just how tired she was until her eyelids began to droop closed. She told herself she wouldn't fall asleep…

…but, when Hotch entered the nursery a mere minute later, she was out like a light, Michael still nestled snugly in her embrace.

A slow smile curved Hotch's lips as he carefully placed Michael into his crib, making sure the baby monitor was turned on. And then, with one last kiss and a whispered _"good night"_ to his son, Hotch effortlessly lifted Emily into his arms and carried her off to bed.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Like it? Love it? Please drop me a line telling me what you think! No matter short or long, signed or anonymous, I treasure and appreciate every single review I get; they never fail to make me smile. Thanks in advance!<strong>


	3. Reprise

**Author's Note: Thank you so very much for your outpouring of feedback for the last chapter. And now...angst, angst, and more angst. **

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

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><p>"Daddy? What's Michael doing?"<p>

Hotch tore his gaze from Emily at Jack's curious question. Both Hotch and Emily gave the young boy a sweet smile. "He's nursing, buddy."

"Oh." Still, Jack didn't quite understand. "What do you mean?"

Emily ran a hand through Jack's gorgeous sandy blonde hair. "Michael's hungry, but he can't eat the same food we do. So he drinks milk."

Jack blushed a little. "From your…you know?"

Emily nodded, rubbing soothing circles on Michael's small back. "You know the milk you drink with your cereal?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, in order for Michael to grow into a big strong boy like you, he has to have a certain kind of milk that is rich in vitamins and special proteins. Only a mother has that kind of milk," she explained, catching Hotch's gaze and shooting him a pretty grin.

"So, Michael's gonna be as big as me soon? But he's so _little_," Jack said in awe, reverently touching his younger brother's tiny, stubby toes.

"You were that little once," Hotch informed, waggling his eyebrows playfully, his heart soaring at his son's resulting laughter.

"No, I wasn't!"

"Oh, but you were," Hotch grinned. "Everyone was that little once. Your mom was," he said as Emily nodded once more. "Believe it or not, even _I_ was that small when I was young."

Jack's eyes widened. _"Really?"_

Hotch touched a finger to Jack's nose. "Really really."

As Jack was recovering from receiving such unbelievably novel and monumental information, Hotch stole a quick kiss from Emily. An unexpected giggle slipped past her lips.

Hotch's eyes crinkled at the corners as he gazed upon the bright, beautiful expression on his wife's face. "You look so happy," he whispered.

"I _am_ happy," she responded simply, leaning against his warm side as Michael continued suckling. "I've never been happier in my life."

Their lips met in a languorous embrace. "I'm glad to hear it," Hotch said earnestly, his voice husky.

"And you?" Emily asked in return. Slowly, Michael drifted away from her breast.

"I couldn't be happier," Hotch replied in kind, watching with amused eyes as Emily tickled Michael's soft little belly. A split second later, Michael let out an endearing little belch that had the three other Hotchners doubled over in laughter.

Jack's raucous laughter morphed into a series of quiet giggles. "He's cute."

"He is," Emily crooned proudly, peppering the three-week old with playful kisses. "You know who else is cute?"

"Who?"

"You are," Emily grinned, tugging Jack forward so that he was lying beside her. "You and Michael are the cutest boys imaginable."

"Hey, what about me?" Hotch teased, lying on her other side.

"Aaron, you're so cute that you're in a category all by yourself," she answered smoothly, winking.

Hotch chuckled. "_Wow._ Now that's high praise."

"Of course it is," Emily said, her eyes drifting closed as she was overcome with a certain sated contentment. Wrapping her arms around her favorite boys, she glanced down at Michael, who was now sleeping against her chest. "It doesn't get better than this, does it?" she asked herself, her soft voice just loud enough for Hotch to hear.

Taking her hands in his, he brought them to his lips. "No," he agreed, shaking his head gently. "Nothing is more perfect than this."

~.~.~

"Is Jack asleep?"

Hotch answered Emily's groggily-spoken question with a tired smile. "He's out like a light. He didn't even make it through the first page of his bedtime story."

Emily rolled on her side to better look at her husband. Their bedroom was dark, the only light coming from a dimmed lamp in the corner of the room. "It's been a long day for everyone, hasn't it?"

"You could say that again." They shared a brief chuckle. Again, Emily's eyes began to drift close.

"Want me to take Michael to the nursery?"

Emily groaned, reluctant to relinquish hold of her son, even for the tiniest of seconds. "_Oh,_ I completely forgot we were planning to move his crib to our room." She was pushing herself into a seating position when a gentle hand circled her wrist.

"Don't worry about it," Hotch brushed off. "We can always move his crib tomorrow." Carefully, he took a squirming Michael into his arms. "Get some rest," he urged, smiling warmly. "I'll take care of this little one; you said it yourself. It's been a long day and…you look exhausted."

Try as she might to prevent it, Emily yawned largely, a keening little moan caught in the back of her throat. "You're sure?" she murmured. "Now that Mikey's up again, he might not go to sleep for a while."

But Hotch simply shook his head. "You need sleep more than I do; _go to bed_," he repeated for seemingly the hundredth time, laughing a little to himself. "I'll watch Michael. We'll be okay."

"Okay," she echoed quietly. "I love you."

It wasn't clear as to whether she had been referring to Hotch or to Michael; or to both of them. But in a matter of seconds, she had fallen into a deep slumber.

Gently bouncing the newborn on his hip, Hotch slowly made his way to the nursery, a mere room away. "Okay, Mikey," he crooned, absentmindedly adopting Emily's nickname for the baby boy. "It's time for you to go to bed, alright? Mommy and Jack are already asleep. But did you hear what Mommy was talking about earlier? About where we're going tomorrow?" Hotch felt his heart stop for a split second as Michael reached up with a tiny fist to grab onto his pinky. He leaned over to kiss the boy on his forehead. "We're going to the park," he said enthusiastically. "You're going to have so much fun…it's going to be gorgeous outside. Not too much sun, not too much wind. The weather will be perfect; just like you. You're perfect, you know. Your mother and I couldn't be prouder - or luckier, for that matter. You're such a blessing…" Hotch's voice faded away. He didn't realize he was crying until a tear fell onto Michael's pale blue onesie. "I love you so much." He gave Michael a watery smile. "Now go to sleep, little one."

Hotch was sure it would take more than an earnest plea to get Michael to sleep; after all, he'd had more than enough experience with raising Jack. But much to his surprise, in less than five minutes, the sweet boy had fallen asleep in his father's arms.

Carefully placing Michael into his crib, Hotch hovered over him for just a minute longer, before turning the nightlight in the corner on and heading towards his own bedroom.

Climbing under the covers, Hotch wrapped his arms around Emily's waist and buried his face into her sweet-smelling hair. Pressing a soft kiss to the back of Emily's neck, he rested his lips there for a brief second.

And then, with the perfumed scent of warm vanilla shampoo filling his lungs, Hotch, too, was fast asleep.

~.~.~

It took a good three hours before Emily realized Michael was crying.

And not just crying.

_Screaming._

Not caring that she was properly dressed, not caring that she wasn't even fully awake, not caring that she had jolted Hotch from his own sleep as well, Emily immediately dashed out of the bed and into the nursery. It wasn't Michael's normal cry; in just three weeks, she had differentiated between his three different ones. Michael was always either hungry, gassy, or in need of a change. But this...this was neither of them. This one shook her to her core, sent a chill down her spine, made the fine hairs on her arm stand up in fear. Fear of what, she didn't know. She didn't think she _wanted_ to know.

As Emily reached Michael's crib, she didn't have to look behind her to know that Hotch was right there, too. She couldn't have turned to look behind her even if she wanted to; because the sight before her commanded her sole attention.

Michael's face was beet red. His small arms flailing desperately, cry after cry came forth from his small pink lips.

"What happened?" Hotch said breathlessly, his eyes worriedly unfocused.

Emily just shook her head, and lifted the baby boy into her arms. His diaper was spotless, which only further increased Emily's concern. She brought him to her chest to nurse, praying to God that he was just starving and in desperate need of milk.

But Michael turned away, his face becoming even more scrunched up in pain.

"Michael?" Emily whispered, tears blurring her vision. Holding a hand up to his small forehead, she almost gasped. Michael was hot and dangerously so.

It took a couple minutes of patting his back and singing and rocking him back and forth before Emily and Hotch realized that something was really, truly wrong.

"Daddy?"

Turning toward the nursery door, Hotch beckoned Jack over and held him to his side. "Hey, buddy," Hotch said unconsciously, hardly paying any attention.

"Daddy, what's wrong?"

Hotch, however, could only shake his head. "Go get dressed," he said numbly, watching as Emily bustled around the room, gathering a myriad of materials and stuffing them haphazardly in her diaper bag.

"But -"

_"Jack. Please."_

Michael was still screaming; wailing, actually. Above the earsplitting noise in the room, Emily caught Hotch's gaze. "We need to go to the hospital," she said, struggling to remain calm. There hadn't really been a need for her to say the thought out loud, but for some reason, she did. Maybe she had been trying to grasp at some last bit of control amidst all the commotion. Maybe she had been trying to organize her thoughts.

Again, she didn't know, and didn't want to.

~.~.~

Hotch and Emily stumbled into the emergency room, Jack close behind. It was a shocking sight; all around them were sickly people in grave need of assistance. On their left was a man holding an ice pack over one of his eyes. A couple paces away, a young girl was clutching her side and moaning in pain. On their far right was an elderly man on a stretcher being wheeled back into examination.

And in the middle of all the chaos, Michael remained in Emily's arms, wailing and crying and screaming in pain.

It was when no one was attending to them - when no one seemed to even _notice _them, standing there by the front desk - that Emily broke down. Over the heart wrenching sound of her little baby gasping for air, Emily let out a terrifying scream.

_"Someone help!"_

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Reviews are love. Please tell me what you think! No account needed. <strong>**


	4. Hush, Little Baby

**Author's Note: Have tissues ready. That's all I can say. Though, to be honest, this chapter is the saddest this story will get. Every chapter after this will bring Hotch and Emily uphill; slowly, yes, but it'll be worth it and it will be beautiful. That much I promise. As always, thank you for reading!**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

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><p>"He has to be okay."<p>

Hotch's grip on Emily's hand tightened at her tearful words. "He has to be," he echoed inaudibly, staring straight before him and nodding mechanically. They had been waiting for hours, to no avail; he was drifting away into madness.

And so was Emily. Pulling her hand out of Hotch's hold, she suddenly rose to her feet and began to pace. It wasn't the first time she had done this; Hotch simply didn't have the heart to tell her she should sit down and rest. A little moan caught in the back of Emily's throat as she turned on her heel. "Aaron," she breathed, her chest heaving and shoulders trembling from the sobs she struggled to hold in. "Tell me Michael's going to be okay," she managed, her eyes losing focus for a second. "I need to hear it from you. _Please_, let him be okay," she begged, unsure of who she was talking to now; her husband, the congregation of doctors behind the closed doors, or someone grander. A higher entity with unfathomable, incredible powers, maybe. Wringing her hands before her, she was shooting a pleading glance up at the heavens when Hotch spoke up.

"Michael's going to be okay," Hotch repeated, his voice hoarse. That was all he could do, really; repeat and repeat and repeat. Too much thought was running through his mind. If he stopped to take it all in…

…all hell would break loose.

"Right?"

Both adults turned toward the small voice; Jack's voice. Both Hotch and Emily felt an instantaneous rush of guilt flood through them; in all the commotion and chaos, they had practically forgotten Jack was there. Hotch mustered up the strength to pull his young son onto his lap. "What was that, buddy?"

"Mikey's gonna be okay, right? I mean…he's so tiny. I haven't even shown him my toys yet. I'll share with him," Jack promised oh so innocently. "I'll let him play with my toys, and watch TV with me, and I'll give him some of my food at dinner if he wants it. ll be a _really_ good big brother, Daddy." Frowning as his father's face contorted into a pained expression, Jack turned to Emily. "Where is Mikey, Mommy?"

Emily bit her bottom lip so hard she swore she tasted the rusty tang of blood. She tried - but ultimately failed - to give the sweet boy a smile. "He's in surgery, baby," she choked out, her voice breaking.

"Surgery?" Jack said, his voice raising slightly. "But…" His voice faded into the background.

As she rounded the corner by the waiting room chairs for seemingly the hundredth time, Emily practically fell into her seat beside Hotch. Before she knew it, the tears she had yearned to repress were freely streaming down her face. She barely noticed Jack sitting at her feet and wrapping his arms around her legs, or Hotch pressing his lips to her crown for a consoling kiss.

_What if?_ she thought. _What if he…_

Her musings - along with those of Hotch, and the chaste ponderings of Jack - were cut short when a door down the hall swung open. If she had been paying more attention, Emily would have noticed just how somber the doctor's step was. She would have noticed the dried tear tracks on the neonatal surgeon's cheeks. But in the harsh hospital lighting, all Emily could see was a single blood stain on the sleeve of the doctor's scrubs.

Hotch's eyes slammed shut and his heart _actually_ stopped as the doctor opened his mouth to speak.

_"No," _Emily whispered, already disorientated from the haze of never-ending tears and the burning in her lungs. _"No, please…"_

The doctor swallowed thickly, then brought his gaze up to meet Hotch's. Three words broke the heavy silence.

_"I'm so sorry."_

The words sank in for a good five minutes before Emily's mouth fell open in a silent scream. She tried to speak, to grab onto something to hold onto for much needed strength…

…but all she could see before her was Michael. Sweet, perfect little Michael, with his mother's nose and his father's dimples. Beautiful baby Michael, nestling his face in his mother's neck. Michael, with his soft porcelain skin, and ten tiny, stubby toes. His expressive brown eyes. His gummy half-smile.

His victorious cry permeating the air.

But where, in the hushed silence, was that cry now?

Emily couldn't remember when she reached out to hold onto Hotch for dear life. But when she opened her eyes to the cruel world that was now her reality, she was pressed up tightly against his chest, Jack close by. Slowly, drop by drop, tears fell into her hair; Hotch was crying, a fact which only made her tears spill faster. The doctor had long since left, wisely choosing to give them a private moment. Emily felt a sharp stab of envy through her heart as she peered tearfully down the empty hallway. The doctor, no matter how sad he was, could walk away. He could walk away and be somehow free the next day.

But for her and Hotch...and sweet, sweet Jack...

Unrelenting sobs began to wrack Hotch's body. He forced the pained moans away; there would be a time, in total privacy, where they would rear their ugly heads. But, as for the sobs, there was no getting rid of them. He held Emily to him so tightly he was sure she would bruise; but she didn't care, and neither did he. "Em-Emily," he stammered, wishing beyond belief that they could turn back time. "Emily," he groaned in defeat, the doctor's simple words running on a loop through his head.

_I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry._

_I'm so sorry._

Somehow, Emily managed to speak through the cloud of pain hanging over her head. "The doctor's mistaken," she wailed miserably, her red-rimmed eyes latching onto his. "He has to be; Michael, he..." She dissolved into another round of tears, pulling Jack ever closer. "Aaron," she rasped a minute later. "Tell me I'm dreaming. Tell me you'll pinch me and I'll wake up and Michael will be asleep in his crib. _Tell me he's not gone._"

It was the first time either one of them had spoken the words aloud. Naively, the two of them had hoped that by not acknowledging their significant, heart-wrenching loss, they would somehow be able to turn back fate.

But they couldn't, not in a million years.

His hands shaking as well, Hotch willed himself to rub soothing circles on Emily's back. She could hardly breathe through the tears; and when she began to cough violently, and hang her head between her legs in silent denial, Hotch knew that their suffering was only just beginning. Had he not been looking at Emily, he wouldn't have been able to hear her speak, no, not through the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears.

_"Tell me Michael's alive," _she implored, her eyes wide.

Hotch shuddered, then, finally, let a moan of anguish slip past his chapped lips. _Michael_, he mourned, his heart already feeling incomplete.

"Aaron?" Emily whimpered. _Tell me._

"I wish I could," he answered numbly, tears falling freely. "I really wish I could."

~.~.~

"I don't want to go home."

Hotch glanced at Emily through swollen eyes, his expression softening slightly at the sight of Jack fast asleep in her arms. The young boy's head was resting on Emily's shoulder; beneath his mess of blonde hair, tears stained Emily's sleeve where his face was pressed up against. Hotch let his hand rest against the small of her back as he guided her to their car.

Four hours had passed.

Two hundred and forty painful minutes.

"Neither do I," he finally answered, his voice rough with disuse. He swallowed thickly, then brought his gaze up to meet hers. Through just the one glance, they communicated the words they couldn't say aloud. They didn't want to go home because returning home would mean reinstating the emptiness they felt inside. They would have to pass by the nursery - _Michael's _nursery.

_Michael._

Passing by his nursery would be too much to handle. To see his empty crib, his friendless stuffed animals gathered nearby. The white elephant painted on the wall would seem to be solemn instead of happy; the colors of the walls and circus-top ceiling would seem dulled instead of bright and lively; the carpet beneath their feet would be worn down instead of plush and comfortable. The worst thing, however, would be the empty rocking chair in the corner. Emily could picture herself lying back in the faithful rocker, her arms empty, her heart barren. Her son gone.

As tears threatened to invade her vision once more, Emily hurried to get into the car.

It was all just too much.

"We can get a hotel room nearby," Hotch spoke once more. "We can stay there for as long as we need." His skin prickled as he thought of returning to their way of life - their way of life before Michael. "Do you want to stop by and get clothes or -"

"No," Emily said adamantly, sighing as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through Jack's hair. "I just want to be able to stop thinking." She hadn't meant to say it aloud; she didn't know what she really meant by the statement. But Hotch seemed to understand; he always did.

Weakly, she reached for his hand as he started the car. Hotch gazed at her for a long tender moment before intertwining his fingers with hers and giving her hand a gentle squeeze. No words needed to be said. Nothing else needed to be done.

At that, Hotch pulled out of the parking lot and drove away, hoping that, with the distance he was putting between themselves and the hospital, their tears would stay at bay; hoping that all thoughts of Michael would either be happy or stay permanently away to allow them a moment of calm before the storm.

~.~.~

Just when she thought she couldn't possibly cry anymore, Emily proved herself wrong - in a horrible way.

Burrowing deep beneath the cream-colored sheets of their standard hotel room bed, Emily fisted the cool cotton in her hands and pressed her face into the pillows as she wailed and yelled and screamed out in a cruel mix of frustration and heartbreak. It was frightening just how quickly the stages of grief were flashing through her; gone already was the denial. But the anger..._oh,_ the anger.

She wrenched her limbs out of Hotch's grip madly as he tried to hold her down to the bed and keep her from hurting herself or waking Jack. _"Why?"_ she keened, her entire body aching now.

"Emily, baby, please -"

_"Why Michael?" _she moaned, ignoring him in her numbly delirious stupor. Hotch could barely make out her words; her sobs were so powerful. "Why Michael, and _w__hy not me?"_

_"No. Don't ever say that,"_ Hotch roared, jolting Emily's gaze up to his. He was hovering over her now, his forehead resting against hers as he struggled for breath. "Don't ever say that," he said once more, his voice weaker now. Unwillingly, a sinister cold dread filled his veins. Losing Michael was unbearable. But to lose _Emily_...

A bitter sob escaped his lips.

"Please, Emmy," he murmured, shaky fingers cupping her damp cheek. "You and I, and Jack, we have to -"

"He wasn't even one month old," she whispered, her eyes blank. "Tell me how that's fair." Emily was practically begging; her knuckles were white as she gripped at the sheets. "Tell me."

"It's...it's not. It's not," Hotch choked out, anger and desperation rife in the air surrounding them. His fists clenched beneath the covers as he struggled to remain strong; if not for his own sanity and stability, then for Emily's.

_Dear Emily._

"I just want him back, Aaron," she said, the sobs dying down. The tears, however, refused to cease. "I just want my baby."

Hotch's eyes burned mercilessly. "So do I. _So much_." His chest tightened as Emily pressed herself up against his front and whimpered into his shirt. Pressing his lips into her hair, Hotch sent up an incoherent prayer; for willpower, strength, and peace, at least for a little while.

They stayed like that for hours on end, with Jack blissfully oblivious to the ways of the world, and with Emily crying herself to sleep. When her body finally stilled and her breathing evened out, it was then that Hotch felt a burgeoning need for escape. He laid with Emily for a second longer, then pressed a kiss to Jack's forehead...

...and then, he stumbled into the hotel bathroom. Not surprisingly, his haggard reflection in the mirror was not the only startling thing in the small room. His heart dropped at the sight before him.

There, on the floor, was an opened bottle of aspirin. The tiny red tablets were scatted haphazardly all over the floor. Briefly, Hotch wondered just how many Emily had taken; on an empty stomach, too. But he knew he couldn't fault her, not when he could still hear her voice in his ears.

_It hurts_, she had groaned. _It just hurts so much._

The body-wracking sobs back once more, Hotch stared warily at his reflection - the disorderly hair, the empty, bloodshot eyes, the pasty skin, the heaving chest - before taking a couple of the pills and swallowing them dry. The aspirin didn't have nearly as immediate a result as he had hoped, but that was a thought for another day. If there would be another day.

Hotch took in a deep breath. Unbridled, thoughts of Michael came to mind; sweet baby Michael, asleep in the safety and comfort of his father's arms. _"J__ames Michael Hotchner; it's a good name,_ he had said to Emily, all those weeks ago._ Strong. It's a _man's _name."_

_Strength..._

_...where was their strength now?_

Where was Michael?

On that note, Hotch finally let go of the last vestige of 'strength' he had reserved for Emily's sake. The bitter taste of aspirin still in the back of his throat, he sank to the cold tile floor and let his tears fall.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews last chapter. Please keep them coming! There's nothing I love more than hearing from you guys, so please don't be shy. No account needed!<strong>


	5. Requiem

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for the comments you left for the previous chapter. They're _so_ very much appreciated. As for this chapter...there's one thing to think of as you read it. _Have faith. _**

**As always, thank you for reading!**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

* * *

><p><em>Neonatal respiratory distress syndrome.<em>

It was all Emily could think of as she gazed blankly at her reflection. Despite the fact that her pregnancy curves still shaped her body, her breasts, her hips, Emily still felt miserly and emaciated; she felt as if she were wasting away. In the simple black dress she was wearing, she felt like nothing but a sack of skin and bones.

She felt _weak._

Emily's vision was blurring once more when Hotch wandered into the room, silent and numb. Their gazes met in the glass pane of the mirror. Without a word, Emily reached out to run a hand over the lapels of his black suit; she remembered seeing him that morning, struggling to iron out the nonexistent creases in the fabric. Over and over, he had blindly run the iron on the suit.

And then, seemingly an hour later, he had cried.

Emily had yearned to move from the doorway and comfort him, just as he so often comforted her…but she couldn't.

Now, however, Emily moved into Hotch's waiting arms, breathing in his comforting scent. He smelled faintly of Old Spice and _Aaron_; he smelled of home.

"Hi," she whispered into his chest, the one quiet echoing sharply in the hotel bathroom.

"Hi," he murmured in return, his voice equally as subdued as hers. Together, they turned as footsteps resounded behind them.

_Jack._

Both parents mustered up what little smiles they could. "Hey, buddy," Hotch said, swallowing thickly as he lifted the boy into his arms. "You okay?"

Jack nodded, then tugged at his tie uncomfortably. "Can you fix it for me, Daddy?"

"Of course I can." Hotch set Jack down on the bathroom counter. "Here. Let me see…"

Giving them a moment of their own, Emily spared one more glance toward her husband attending to their son, and wordlessly slipped away. She was a phantom; nothing more, nothing less. And once more, only one thought rested in her mind.

_Neonatal respiratory distress syndrome._

_Respiratory distress._ Emily remembered the fear she and Hotch had felt when Michael's lungs had refused to work; when he hadn't been able to breathe. The doctor had told her it wasn't uncommon in newborns…but when she had asked about contributing factors, she had been answered with yet another heartbreak.

It just never ended.

"Emily?"

So caught up was she in her in self-deprecating thoughts that she hadn't taken notice of Hotch's presence until he was a foot away from her. Instantly, Emily spun around on her heel. "I -"

His expression softened, his eyebrows smoothing out from their previous furrow. "You're crying," Hotch murmured, touching her cheek gently. "Sweetheart -"

Finally, Emily could no longer help herself; out came the question she had been stressing over for the past few hours, the past few days.

"Was this all my fault?"

Hotch looked at her intently, his eyes widening slightly. "Emily, what are you talking about?" he asked quietly, fearing the answer he knew was sure to come.

Emily shielded her eyes as Jack scampered off to the other room; he didn't need to see her tears. _"Michael,"_ she breathed. "You heard what the doctor said; babies whose mothers experienced complication while in labor are at an increased risk for RDS. What if -"

Hotch cut her off before she could say the words; the words that would undoubtedly bring him to his knees in anguish.

_What if it is my fault that Michael died?_

He gripped her shoulders with large, gun-coarse palms, effectively jolting her back to the present. "Sweetheart," he said softly. "I don't want you to think that for one second."

"I _flatlined_, Aaron."

"Listen to yourself!" he choked out. "You're blaming yourself for something so utterly not connected to you." Hotch was desperate now, gasping for air as he tried to free her from the destructive mindset she was in. "Listen to _me_ this time; if I said that...that Michael's...was my fault because I was the one that got you pregnant, and therefore, indirectly lead to a complicated birth...if I told you that, what would you say in response?"

Emily shut her eyes, trying in vain to block out the harsh world around her. "That's not what I mean, and you know it."

"No, Emily; what I _do _know is that I hate seeing you like this." Hotch chose to ignore the tears once again rolling down his cheeks. "You and I, we're in this for better and for worse. But you're _torturing _yourself. Please..."

Emily bit her lip, then let out a shaky sigh. "For better and for worse?" she echoed almost cautiously, her brown eyes wide.

_Til death do we part_, Hotch wanted to say; but the more he thought the phrase over, the more worried - the more anxious - he became. Instead, he settled with a simple nod and pulled Emily into a tender embrace.

"It hurts," he whispered. "Believe me, I know. But..."

"But?"

"I love you. So very much, Emily."

Her heart giving the finest of flutters, Emily pulled back from the embrace just in time to receive the sweetest of kisses against her lips. For a split second, she was taken to the perfect world they had previously lived in; the kiss was familiar, welcoming, gentle, and indescribably lovely. Yet...it was sad, too, for it reminded her that things weren't as they had once been.

Things would never be the same.

Her vision now blurred by stars instead of tears, Emily finally spoke, this time in a whisper against Hotch's jaw.

"I love you, too."

But Hotch sensed a pause in there somewhere; it was as if Emily had more to say...but couldn't bring herself to speak the words. "But...?" he prompted, similar to the way she had done so mere minutes ago.

Emily gazed at Hotch longingly, then broke away to stare at her broken, pale reflection. "But...I just miss him."

Hotch nodded once more, then downcast his gaze so that he was staring solemnly at his feet. "So do I," he lamented quietly.

And then, even Jack appeared, peeking behind the doorframe in order to peer unknowingly at his parents. The young boy sighed.

"So do I."

~.~.~

Only four figures stood in the middle of the cemetery, surrounded by rows, _endless_ rows, of marble headstones. So many lives lost; so many loves lost.

The service had ended long ago, but neither the priest nor the Hotchners could bring themselves to leave. Of them all, Hotch stood closest to where Michael lay. His arms hanging limply at his sides, his body frozen still, all he could do was stare. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the wind tease the hem of Emily's dress and ruffle Jack's sandy blonde hair; he could feel it dancing against his skin, beneath his suit jacket.

But none of it mattered.

Nothing did.

Gently, Hotch dropped to his knees. A hand - _his_ hand - reached out to feel the ground beneath which Michael rested. He was still burying his fingers in the loose earth - looking for a tangible aspect of his son to hang on to, perhaps - when Emily closed the distance between them.

She was no longer crying; she had run out of tears to shed. Instead, she was frighteningly calm. In her eyes, he could see the boxes she was struggling to compartmentalize everything into. It unnerved him to no end; not that he'd ever tell her. But to see her struggling so much...he could already see the carefully built boxes and walls come crashing down. It had happened to him once.

It hadn't been pretty.

Emily, however, sighed heavily and reached for Hotch's hand, expecting nothing. It was evident in her demeanor that she was putting forth the rest of her sanity into that one moment; she had nothing left, no energy, no breath.

With a little gasp of air, Emily held onto Hotch as he rose - albeit reluctantly - to his feet. Her heart clenched at the faithless look in his eyes; but, without a doubt, she knew the same expression was reflected in hers. Together, hand in hand, they glanced behind them, where Jack stood patiently, observing the scene before him through uncorrupted eyes. The young boy stepped forth obediently at the sweet, beckoning wave his mother gave. And then, father, mother, and son joined hands - with Jack in the middle - and just..._breathed_. The air was cold, but not jarringly so. It was fresh and crisp and cleansing and pure; it was just what they yearned for.

After seemingly a decade's worth of silence, Jack finally tugged on Emily's arm. "Mommy?" he whispered.

Not needing a reason, Emily lifted him into her arms and held him close. "Sweetheart?" she countered.

"Is Mikey in a...a better place?"

A short breath momentarily caught in the back of her throat. She gave Jack a watery smile, which he curiously returned. "I'd...I'd like to think so, yes," she said, her gaze meeting Hotch's. She knew exactly what he was thinking; Jack had seen too much, what with Haley's murder, Emily's disappearance, and _Michael_...

"But," this time, the question was directed to Hotch, "does he have enough toys?" Jack queried concernedly.

Hotch gazed at his son for a long tender minute, then left a soft kiss to his temple. "He has lots and lots of toys," he said, his voice wavering.

Jack shifted in Emily's arms, then curled in so that his head rested beneath her chin. "So, he's happy?" he murmured hopefully.

Emily swallowed thickly as Hotch answered once more. "Yeah, buddy. He-he's happy."

With every innocent question, Emily knew more and more about what Jack was getting at. Never again would she underestimate his intelligence, no matter his age. She ran a hand absentmindedly over the young boy's back placatingly. "Want to blow your little brother a kiss goodbye?"

_Goodbye?_

Emily's mind faltered at the thought.

_How could she possibly say goodbye?_

Jack, however, sensed nothing. Instead, he leaned forward intently as Emily and Hotch took that final step forward. And then, right as another sadly beautiful breeze flirted through the air around them, the three mourners left their lost love a kiss on the wind, allowing it to carry the simple embrace away to the heavens.

"Goodbye, Michael," Jack said. His parents couldn't repeat the sentiment, for it was, once again, just _too much_. But there was one thing they could do...one step forward they could take.

Emily spoke to no one in particular; or perhaps she was speaking to Michael. But, with one final glance at her poor, precious son, she let her heart loose and said the words Hotch had so desperately needed to hear.

_"Let's go home."_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Bittersweet, yes, I know. But <em>please<em> leave me a review telling me what you thought of this chapter; your feedback not only encourages me to update faster, but makes me smile as well. I cherish every single one! No account needed.**


	6. Shattered Dreamers

**Author's Note: This chapter holds my favorite scene in this story thus far; it's angsty, it's emotional, and it's frightening, as is the rest of the story. But it leads up to the action in the next chapter, which is where things will really begin to get interesting. I cannot begin to express my gratitude to you all; the fact that you have chosen to stick with me and _Mockingbird_ means so incredibly much. As always, thank you for reading!**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

* * *

><p>"Please eat something."<p>

Emily didn't bother to look up from the checks she was trying to balance. "I told you, Aaron; I'm not hungry."

Whereas Emily's voice was flat and emotionless, Hotch's was frustrated and worn. It had been a full week to the day since their lives had been turned upside-down, and with every hour that passed, his patience and stamina ran thinner and thinner. Hotch struggled with all his might to keep away from the one kitchen cabinet that was calling out his name, beckoning him forth and offering him a brief moment of two of solace. The calling became gradually louder and louder, so loud that his head began to ache.

But once again, his gaze landed on Emily.

And the calling stopped.

"You haven't eaten anything in an entire week, Emily," Hotch reminded. _"Please."_

"That's not true," she countered stubbornly, refusing to look back at him. Instead, her eyes rested on a handwritten entry in her checkbook. The simple words captivated her attention; they tore her heart to pieces.

_Crib for Michael – Babies R Us, _she had written.

Emily swallowed thickly. "I ate crackers this morning, remember?" she finally answered.

"Crackers," Hotch echoed. "Somehow I don't think _crackers_ will provide a day's worth of sustenance."

Emily narrowed her eyes at her husband's cold, careless tone. "Well, it's good enough for me."

For Hotch, that was the last straw. Throwing all cares away, he flung open _the_ kitchen cabinet; the one that had been singing to his heart while everything and everyone else had strove to break it. From the assortment of bottles, he pulled out a dusty flask of whiskey; a fiery single malt with a sweet honey tang.

His one true love.

A single tear – the last one for a very long while – slipped onto Emily's checkbook, and smeared the ink there. "You're _drinking_ now?"

Hotch cradled the glass almost protectively. "I don't need your judgment, Emily."

_Finally,_ their lost gazes met. Emily rose from her seat and peered at him for a long, lonely minute. She watched him drain his glass; she watched him refill it. "I'm not judging you," she whispered, breaking through the tension in the room. "I just…"

Her voice trailed away as Hotch reached for her hand and pulled her close. They didn't embrace; they didn't kiss, or hold each other, or lose themselves in each other's eyes. Instead, they simply rested together, forehead to forehead. It was all the intimacy they needed.

It was all they had left.

"I'm sorry," Hotch whispered.

Emily shook her head. "Don't be. Just…pour me a glass, will you?"

~.~.~

"What are you thinking about?"

_Do you really have to ask?_ Emily wanted to say. Sighing, she traced the rim of her glass with a finger. Beside her, Hotch watched with unseeing eyes. They were dazed, and not pleasantly so; yet they couldn't be dazed enough.

"Michael," Emily finally answered, her voice surprisingly smooth. "He would be nursing around this time."

Hotch let his head fall forward to the nape of Emily's neck. "Baby –"

"How are you so composed?" Something flashed in Emily's eyes; something like envy. "How are you not…crying at the drop of a hat, or breaking down at every tiny reminder of what could've been? _Teach me_," she begged.

But Hotch let out a groan of defeat. "I'm not composed," he murmured. "I'm anything but. You're outwardly emotional; I'm more inwardly emotional." He grimaced. "I don't know which one is worse. Because, some days…some days, all I want to do is _scream_."

"So scream."

"I can't." He motioned down the hall, where a little boy lay fast asleep. "I have Jack to be strong for. I have _you_ to be strong for."

Emily hung her head. "I don't know what it means to be strong anymore," she confessed with a gasp. "I don't know what strength is. In fact, sometimes, I feel like it would be easier if I just killed myself."

Hotch's glass fell to the floor, shattering into a million irreplaceable pieces. _"Emily."_

She hadn't meant to say the words aloud; but now that she had started, she couldn't stop. "I'd be able to see Michael," she whispered. "I just want to hold him, Aaron. I just want to nurse him, and rock him to sleep, and see his handsome gummy smile…just _one _more time."

Hotch's heart dropped to his stomach. In a flash, he regretted his near-sightedness, his neglect of seeing their situation for what it truly was; _how had he not seen it?_ The depression was clearly there. Emily would never admit to it, but, then again, neither would he. Because the more he thought of it, the more Hotch realized that it wasn't only Emily falling farther and farther into the abyss of post-partum depression. It was he as well.

"Think of Jack," he said immediately, his eyes wide as Emily's composure slackened. Unexpectedly, the air whooshed out of his lungs. "Think of _me_."

"I would see Michael…"

"_Damn it, Emily, think of _us!" Hotch gripped her arms tightly and spun her around to face him. A pang of self-hatred filled his bones as he took in the startled look in her wide doe eyes.

He had _scared_ her.

Wrapping his arms around her, Hotch rocked her back and forth as her dry sobs echoed in his ears. "Don't do this to yourself," he pleaded, his voice nearly inaudible – and raspy from his previous roar. "I need you." He pressed a kiss to her neck. "We need each other, Emmy; you know it's true."

"I know. I didn't – I mean, I didn't mean it, what I said. I –"

Hotch silenced her with a kiss to her lips this time. It wasn't long before they were giving it their all, kindling and rekindling their intensity for one another while engaged in a desperate dance for control; the one aspect of their lives they _could_ control.

Emily was the one to break the embrace; the embrace that had been so beautiful it hurt. She clung to him, her fists clenched in the material of his shirt. "What do we do?" she asked hopelessly.

Hotch nuzzled her neck, trying to distract himself from the questions, the painful answers, their hellish paradise.

Their shattered dreams.

"We take it day by day," he finally said. "Day by day; hour by hour."

"What if we can't?"

"We have to."

"But…" Emily whimpered, "what if _I _can't?"

Hotch pulled away, his gaze moving to the broken glass littering their floor. It was disturbingly reminiscent of how he felt at the moment; broken, with no chance of repair. Because, while he couldn't even begin to imagine how Emily felt – how a _mother_ felt, after carrying and bringing a child into the world, only to be robbed of the beautiful child by the cruel universe itself – he knew how _he _felt. He knew how he felt, and he knew how Emily was making him feel. Among the sea of already stifling emotions, she was drowning him – she was splitting him at the seams.

His red-rimmed eyes fell closed at Emily's curious touch.

"Aaron?"

Hotch's voice was frighteningly hard when he answered. "We _have_ to."

Come hell or high water…they would.

~.~.~

Making sure Emily was asleep, Hotch slipped out of bed, his conscience clear and his intentions faulty. He made not a sound as he crept toward the kitchen – with a cursory glance back at Emily, of course. He wasn't sure what compelled him to look; he hadn't been checking to see if she was awake. He didn't care if she saw him, really.

But he looked anyway.

And he couldn't look away; not until the calling recommenced, anyway.

Like a ghost, he was drawn forward until he reached his faithful liquor cabinet. Silently, he poured himself a glass…and silently, he drank. He drank until he could no longer see Michael's sweet face in his mind's eye, and his heart began to ache.

And then, he heard it.

"Aaron, what are you – _oh._" Emily's expression softened, but the action went unnoticed in the darkness of the kitchen. "Shouldn't you –"

"I'm fine," Hotch said glumly.

She cupped his elbow gently. "That's not what I was going to ask."

"Emily." He shut his eyes tightly, willing her away. "Go back to bed."

"But –"

"I'm sorry if I woke you up." Hotch covered Emily's hand with his. "I'll join you in a second, okay? I just need – I need…" His shoulders slumped. "I don't know."

"Please, Aaron…" she squeezed his hand, "just be careful."

Hotch nodded curtly, then watched as Emily made to move back to their bedroom. "I love you."

Emily paused, her steps faltering. "I love you, too."

Neither of them chose to dwell on the fact that their "I love you's" sounded so mechanical.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Thoughts? Please leave a review; your feedback, no matter how short or long, never fails to give me the encouragement and inspiration I need. No account needed!<strong>


	7. Til Death Do Us Part

**Author's Note: Once again, have faith. And as always, thank you so very much for reading! This chapter means especially much to me; it's my favorite thus far, and I hope that you all will be able to see the beauty behind the pain.**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

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><p>Emily watched silently as Hotch shrugged off his suit jacket; as he undid his tie, as he toed off his shoes, as he begun to unbutton his shirt.<p>

Finally, she sighed. "How was work?" she asked, yearning for idle conversation.

Their gazes met. "It was…pretty normal. We spent the day filling out paperwork; but even then, there was hardly any paperwork to do for a change because…" Hotch averted his eyes, "because Morgan and Dave had already done most of it for me."

Emily could tell he had his reservations. "And that's a bad thing?" she questioned softly.

"No, no," he said hastily. "It was very kind of them, and I'm very grateful. But I…I just wanted _normalcy_, you know? A routine to fall back into."

"Normalcy," Emily echoed. "I don't even remember how normalcy feels."

Hotch nodded his understanding. "I know." There was a brief pause; a weighty one, a contemplative one. Then: "They asked about you."

"Did they?"

Emily's voice broke.

Slowly, Hotch closed the distance between them. "They wanted to know when you were coming back."

Emily leaned forward until she was close enough to wrap her arms around his waist. "I don't know, Aaron," she murmured. "I don't know if I can." _Or if I even want to._

Hotch shut his eyes. "That's how I felt today."

It wasn't.

Emily peered up at him through previously damp lashes, then rose on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. "I missed you today."

Hotch offered her a small smile; if it was forced, Emily couldn't tell. "I did, too."

"You didn't call during your lunch break."

"I –" This time, it was Hotch's turn to sigh. He had no more excuses; he had no more words left to say. "I'm sorry." Emily just shook her head. "But now that I_am_ home…do you want to maybe go for a walk? Just the two of us. I'd like to talk to you."

That made Emily's eyes widen slightly. "Talk? About?"

"Anything. Jack, dinner, taxes." He swallowed thickly. "Us." _Where are we, Emily? Tell me._

Emily thought it over; turning to gaze out the large picture window, she watched the grass in their yard sway in the cool breeze. It was a truly beautiful day…and some fresh air surely couldn't hurt.

"Just give me a minute to change."

~.~.~

"So..._taxes?_" A hint of amusement colored Emily's dark, blinded eyes. "It's not tax season yet."

Hotch slipped his hand into Emily's with ease. As he spoke, his thumb drew random patterns against the skin of her palm. It gave him something to do; she gave him the distraction he so desperately needed. "You know what I mean, Em," he chided gently. "Anything. Let's talk about anything. I just like hearing your voice," he tacked on sweetly. It was the last olive branch he could think to offer...

...and though she couldn't possibly organize her thoughts, Emily grabbed onto his offering with both hands.

"I just don't know what to talk about, Aaron," she admitted tinily.

Together, they turned a corner and moved into the shade of their neighbors' trees. "We need a vacation, don't we?" Hotch said. "You, me, Jack...we need an escape."

"Yes," Emily whispered heavily. "An escape. It's been two months, for God's sake."

"Not two months," Hotch corrected. "Fifty-six days."

Against the sidewalk, Emily's rhythmic step faltered. And that was _it_. Neither one of them had wanted to bring up Michael. No matter how much time passed, they knew nothing would be able to fill that now meaningless void. And that hurt more than almost anything.

Almost.

"Forget I brought it up," Emily said inaudibly, the wind carrying her words away. Her visage was almost nervous as the words fell from her lips; as if she knew just how tenuous their relationship was, and as if she thought her musing aloud might tear the already thin threads by which they were hanging. She looked at him pleadingly.

Hotch's head snapped up. "You didn't bring it up. I did," he pointed out, wanting only to validate his wife's emotions. But it wasn't that easy.

"No, Aaron, you didn't -"

"What are we doing?" Hotch finally asked, pulling her to a quick stop. Reluctantly, something came to mind; a statistical fact he had overheard Reid whispering about. _Sixteen percent of couples that has experienced the trauma of child loss goes through divorce._ Sixteen percent. It wasn't much - for that he was thankful. But still, hateful scenarios began to unfold in the back of his mind. Unable to help himself, he glanced around them for any other signs of life, or of happiness; there was a young girl and what looked to be her boyfriend a couple yards down, and they walked briskly away. An elderly woman and her husband sat on their porch, lost in their own world; lost in their own experiences. But everywhere else? Everywhere else was empty, barren. Like his heart. Like Emily's.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Emily questioned, her face paling.

"You and I." He forced her to look at him. "I have no illusions, Emily. I know things can't - and won't ever - go back to normal for us. But we _cannot_ draw apart." Hotch's voice was wearing thin, and so was his patience; they'd had too many of these fights late at night for him to even pretend to care anymore. It was his last chance; it was do or die.

"We're not drawing apart," Emily countered, in denial. "It's not like this," she motioned between them, around them, ahead of them, "is easy."

"I never said it was. I just -" Hotch's face contorted. "Damn it," he hissed. Before he could even think another self-deprecating thought, he was bending over and lifting Emily into his arms, bridal-style.

Emily let out an unsuspecting squeal, her arms moving instinctively to loop around his neck. "Aaron," she said breathlessly, what -"

"I just wanted to hear you laugh; just one more time." _One more time?_ He hung his head in grim defeat.

And within a second, his lips were on hers, moving together in some hopeless prayer; a prayer for one last chance at recovery. A keening little moan caught in the back of Emily's throat as Hotch pulled away for a mad gulp of air, but he didn't leave her waiting for more than a heartbeat.

"Aaron," she panted against his cheek, "stop. The neighbors, they're probably staring -"

"Then let them stare." His voice was frighteningly cold. "You're my wife and I'm damn proud of it. _We can make this work, Emily._"

Whether or not Hotch believed his words was left to be determined.

~.~.~

"You can put me down now."

"Mmmm, I don't think I can." Hotch moved Emily so that her legs were now wrapped around his waist securely. His mind spinning as he felt her warm breath fanning out against his cheek, he fished around in his pocket for his keys with trembling fingers. Seemingly an eternity later, their front door opened. "I don't want to let you go." Seven simple words; but _hundreds_ of meanings.

"Okay," Emily murmured. "They're your arms, not mine." Hotch locked up their house, then finally set her on her feet. A beat later, Emily's lips curved into a timid half-smile; a half-smile that reminded him so much of that of his son.

His heart wrenched.

"This was nice," Emily said softly, staring at her feet. "I mean, not _nice_, with all things considered, but...needed."

"It was nice," Hotch agreed, taking Emily's hands anxiously. "And look, we talked about it before...we can do this. It's what Michael would have wanted, isn't it? His parents to be strong, to regain their peace and not -" His voice broke. "To regain their peace and not suffer so greatly that they fight each day." His bottom lip quivered. "We'll do anything it takes; we promised we would, remember? _For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part._" Hotch slowly caressed Emily's cheek with the palm of his hand. "We'll do anything it takes," he repeated.

"Anything," she echoed, though her head began to hurt at the possibilities.

Hotch nodded. "Anything." He swallowed thickly as he saw where Emily's gaze was set; she had turned away slightly and was now facing Michael's nursery, still untouched from when the baby boy had last laid in his crib. "And if that 'anything' includes trying for another baby...then that's what we'll do."

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Hotch knew he had misspoken.

_"Aaron,"_ she hissed, any thoughts of a 'nice' walk of the neighborhood far from her mind. Once again, all she could think about was the endless arguments, the judging, the failure to see eye-to-eye. Just when she had thought they were on the road to compromise...

Tearing her gaze from the pale blue and white room - the room that had once been so _happy_ - she spun on her heel to face her husband. "How can you even think of that right now?" she asked almost heartbrokenly. Though her words were angry, her voice was sad; like a broken little rag doll having been thrown in the corner of a dusty room. "How can you just..." she searched in vain for the right words, "how can you just move on?"

Hotch's grip on her hands tightened. "I'm not moving on, I just -"

"You've just...accepted the fact Mikey's gone." Emily was practically crumbling before his eyes. "I don't understand you sometimes."

Hotch struggled to keep his temper in check; he would chalk it up to the Glenfiddich he had been loving since the morning. "Emily, believe me; I know more than anyone how hard it is to mourn. I mourned my father. I mourned Haley. Hell, I mourned you alongside the team; even though I knew we hadn't buried you, I didn't know whether you were alive or not. And that _killed_ me. But I forced through it." He pinched his brow, a migraine building. "And now I'm - we're - mourning Michael. Everybody grieves differently, yes...but we _can't_ live in the past. It will do nothing but hurt us."

"So you want us to _forget_ about him altogether?"

His eyes flashed. "You know that's know what I mean."

"No, I _don't._ Look, Aaron, I'm sorry that you had to go without knowing if I was dead or alive, but I thought we were over that. Or am I not allowed to have even a single ounce of peace in my life?"

"We _are_ over it, Emily," Hotch bit out. "That's not the issue here."

"Then why did you bring it up?" Emily's voice came out in an outright scream. "You think you're the only one who knows what it means to mourn? Let me tell you. I lost all of you; the entire team, my only real family. I lost a part of _myself_. I lost Matthew. And..." she wrapped her hands around herself, "I lost my baby. I _killed_ my baby. When I was only_ fifteen._"

It hit Hotch square in the chest.

He hadn't even made the connection; her abortion had never even come to mind. "Sweetheart -"

"Oh, don't give me that," Emily scowled. "Don't even try to tell me you understand the hell I'm living. God, the _pain_...the pill the doctor gave me to dry me up can only work so much. My breasts...do you know what it's like to be unable to get rid of breast milk? It's unbearable; it's excruciating. And every day, it's a constant reminder of Michael. You think we need an escape? Well, I'll tell you this. A walk around the neighborhood is no escape," she said almost mockingly. Hatred was evident in her voice; and in Hotch's stance as well, though he tried to hide it.

"I can only try so hard," he pointed out, his eyes sharp as he gazed at her.

"I'll say," she barked out sarcastically. "If going through bottles of whiskey like it's water is your definition of 'trying hard'."

Hotch actually growled. "Don't you dare go there," he threatened lowly. His contempt was uncontrollable now.

"Or what? You think I enjoy seeing you drown yourself in alcohol? You think I enjoy seeing my home life collapse around me? Everything's _gone_, Aaron." Emily ripped her body from the remnants of his stiff embrace.

"Everyone grieves in different ways," he yelled back. "Get that in your head, Emily."

Emily was actually bowed forward in her rage. "Don't do that. Don't use that fucking tone of voice with me."

He laughed incredulously. "What tone of voice? Emily, _what_ are you talking about?"

She pushed her finger to his chest. "Damn it, Aaron, you're using it right now. Even though you don't have to; you're condescending enough."

"Says the woman who's making this all about herself."

Emily couldn't help it; she slapped him across the face, hard. She didn't even flinch when he grabbed her hand in result. "You said it yourself," she cried. "Everyone grieves differently. But if, for you, that means having another child so soon, then I'm sorry, but go find another woman to have your baby. Michael_cannot_ be replaced. How could you even think -"

Hotch snapped.

_"You're not the only one who loved him, Emily!"_ he roared. His eyes were wide; his blood was on fire. _"He was my son, too!"_

The room was cloaked in silence. It was so quiet that Emily was sure they would have been able to hear a pin drop...but there would be no time for that.

A nonexistent sob caught in the back of Emily's throat. It was too much; she couldn't breathe, it was just _too much_. She needed an escape, and fast. Not a vacation; an _escape._

Just like that, the words she knew were inevitable fell from her lips in a breathless whisper.

"I can't stay here."

Hotch didn't even bother looking at her. "What do you mean?" he asked indifferently.

"I can't take it anymore," Emily said simply.

_God._ "Are...are you saying -"

Reluctantly, Emily tore her gaze from Michael's nursery once more. Her voice was mournful - yet painfully resolute and clear - when she spoke.

"I want a divorce, Aaron."

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Please...don't forget to review! No matter long or short, or signed or anonymous, I love hearing from you; in every way.<strong>


	8. Unquantifiable

**Author's Note: While writing this chapter, I realized that I'm really not trying to put blame on either Hotch or Emily. I'll leave that part of the opinion-making up to you. As always, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

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><p>"<em>I want a divorce, Aaron."<em>

The words ran out sickeningly in the otherwise quiet room. Hotch swallowed thickly, his head spinning as he struggled to stave the dread and ever-present anger that began to crawl beneath his skin. Slowly, he took a step forward.

Emily took a step back.

"You _what?"_ he asked quietly. Despite the volume of his tone, Hotch's words were anything but soft; no, instead, they were cold and already resigned.

Emily pinched her brow, her headache now full-fledged. "You heard me," she gasped out.

She was still talking when Hotch began shaking his head condescendingly. "No, Emily, you don't mean that," he insisted, in obvious denial. This couldn't be happening to him _again_. "You're just not thinking straight."

Emily's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "_That's_ all you have to say? _That's_ your definition of fighting for the ones you love; to _insult_ them?" Her arms instinctively folded over her heaving chest. "What do you want me to do, huh? You want me to forget all about Michael? You want me to forget about the ten months of pregnancy, the night of horror after Jameson attacked me and the blood _wouldn't stop_…or the perfect month we had – as a family?"

Hotch cursed under his breath. "Emily, you know that's not –"

"Or do you want me to _compartmentalize?"_ She spat the word out as if it had been poison in her mouth.

His silence was her answer.

"Let me tell you this, Aaron. I've tried quantifying it; I've tried putting everything into perfect little boxes. But there are just some things about a grieving human being that can't be arranged by some tell-all formula to life."

Hotch stood, rooted in his place by a rage so blinding as Emily stormed off into their bedroom. He vaguely heard drawers being pulled open and slammed shut; _vaguely_ because, while she did whatever the hell she was doing, voices screaming out in protest seemed to echo in his ears. The pounding of his heart increased pace; his breathing quickened.

_She wasn't the only one suffering!_ Did she not understand? Did she not see the barren landscape that was his face when he dressed for work each morning? Did she not smell the sweat of despair on his skin as he lay beside her in bed each night?

She did.

A tear fell onto her go-bag as she haphazardly flung clothes and other necessities into it. Just that morning, in the split second of harsh lighting in their kitchen, Emily had mourned over the increasingly deep-set lines in and around Hotch's still handsome face. It was evidence enough that he shared her same cutting, knife-like feelings each day.

These thoughts and all others fled her conscience quickly, however, when she turned to see Hotch standing in the doorway, peering at her. His next words only served to augment her bitter contempt.

He sighed. "You're running away again."

It wasn't a question, but a statement; and the sad thing about it was the tone with which Hotch had spoken the words. Soft, dreary, numb.

Emily slammed a palm onto one of the room's walls. "I'm _not_ running –"

"Do you not love me, Emily?"

Emily's glare was vicious. "Don't go pulling that guilt trip of yours."

"_Answer me, damn it."_

"I don't not love you," she said on a frustrated exhale. "But I don't love this situation." She motioned around them at the walls that had acted as their own personal prison; their own personal hell.

"So, we'll move," Hotch said simply, his voice raising with every second that passed. "We'll get out of this house if that's what we have to do."

"That's not practical at all, and you know it," Emily said lowly. "Do you have any idea how long that would take? Take it from someone who moved from home to home practically every other month; you have to pack all of your belongings into boxes, or sell or donate what you don't want to keep, then find a real estate agent to put the house on sale, then actually _find_ a new house, and then…" Her voice trailed away. "It's not that easy."

"Only because _you_'re not making it easy!" Hotch countered. "Listen to yourself, Emily, and think about the other members of this family. What about _me_? How do you expect me to grieve by myself when you leave to...wherever you're going? All you're doing is making everything infinitely more complicated. _Stop_ being so selfish."

"Selfish?" Emily echoed incredulously. _Now who's making it all about themselves?_ she wanted to yell. "Go to hell, Aaron." Hiking her bag high on her shoulder, she crossed over to their front door, only to be stopped by an insistent hand wrapping around her wrist. _"Let go of me_._"_

But Hotch didn't listen. "Okay...so don't worry about me. I'll find a way to cope." He chased her down the driveway as she strode determinedly toward her car. "But if you don't think about me, at least think about the one member of this family who needs you most." She was only a few paces away from the driver's side door when his words hit her at full force. _"Think about _Jack_, Emily!"_

Before she knew it, Emily had sunk to her knees on the pavement and was crying into her hands.

"Do you know...what he asked me...the other day?" she managed between sobs. "He asked me if I loved Michael more than I loved him." Her face contorted into an expression of pure anguish. "And I looked into his sweet face...and all I could see was Michael's. I didn't have an answer for Jack, Aaron," she confessed tearily. "I didn't know how to respond; I couldn't."

Rising to her feet shakily, she turned away from the hand he had begrudgingly offered to help her up. Her gaze fixed on her blurred reflection in the sheen of the car's coat, Emily took in a deep breath that did nothing to settle the disgusted feeling in her stomach, and finally opened the car door. "Jack's better without me," she whispered.

"No...Em," Hotch chided disapprovingly.

_"Yes."_

Hotch's lips curled into a sad and frustrated frown. He'd had enough. "Alright then," he sighed, giving up. "When do you want to get the rest of your stuff?" he asked flatly.

"I'll call you." _Maybe_. "I'm done, Aaron. I can't take this anymore."

And at that, Emily turned the engine over and drove away, leaving a thoroughly distressed Aaron Hotchner behind her.

~.~.~

"Where's Mommy?"

_Mommy_. Hotch's eyes slammed shut. Jack had _just_ gotten accustomed to the term...to calling Emily by the endearment that she had loved so much. Lifting the pajama-clad boy onto his lap, Hotch held him close. "Remember? I told you Mommy went to...to New York to visit her parents," he said hastily, his heart sinking at the knowledge that he had just _lied_ in his son's face. _Some father_, a tiny voice said in his head.

"Oh, yeah." There was a pause, long enough for Hotch to think that Jack had fallen asleep. But alas, he was still awake - and as curious as ever. "When's she coming back, Daddy? I miss her."

_I miss her, too,_ Hotch wanted to respond; but he wasn't sure if it was the absolute truth. At least, not yet. "I don't know, buddy. Some time soon, I'm sure." Before Jack could elaborate any further, Hotch rose off of the couch he had previously been occupying, the young boy still in his arms. "Okay, Jack; it's bedtime. Did you brush your teeth already?"

"Uh huh." He smiled big and wide, showing off two rows of small, white teeth.

Hotch couldn't help but smile back. "Good. Let's go tuck you in. Do you want a story tonight?"

Surprisingly, Jack shook his head. "I'm really sleepy," he explained, his soft voice already drifting away.

"I know what you mean," Hotch said sympathetically, his own eyes heavy with tiredness. Placing the boy in bed and covering him snugly with an array of blankets, Hotch leaned forward to press a kiss to his son's forehead. "Good night, buddy. I'm glad you had fun at your friend's house."

Jack buried his face into his pillow. "I did. How 'bout you, Daddy? Did you and Mommy have fun before she went to see grandpa and grandma?"

Hotch walked to Jack's bedroom door, then turned back so that his face was partially shrouded; so that Jack wouldn't see his tears. "Yeah. We had a great time." With a flick of his wrist, he turned the lights off, plunging the room into a comfortable darkness that was assisted by the moon-shaped nightlight in the corner. "Now get some sleep, Jack."

"Okay. I love you, Daddy."

"I love you, too, sweet boy."

After a minute of milling in the hall outside of Jack's room to make sure he fell asleep without any problems, Hotch ambled back into the living room. The house was tragically empty, and just as quiet. He wanted more than anything to go for a walk in the cool night air - just because walks around the neighborhood weren't _good enough_ for Emily didn't mean he couldn't appreciate the brief solace they provided. Mindlessly scanning through TV channels he wasn't planning on watching anyway, Hotch found himself uneasily waiting for the moment when the divorce papers would be served. It's not that he _wanted_ it; he wanted just the opposite, of course. But, if he knew anything about himself, it was that he had the tendency to overthink things, and he was doing just that with Emily's inflamed exclamation. He wanted to believe that she didn't mean it; he wanted that more than anything.

What _he_ couldn't believe, on the other hand, was that Emily actually thought he was done grieving. _"G__o find another woman to have your baby_,_"_ she had said. Maybe calling her 'selfish' hadn't been his best executive decision...but how else could he describe it? This was about Michael, a perfect child they had created together. And that was how they were meant to be, how they were meant to mourn; _together_. Together, they could be each other's best support system. But now?

_Where's Mommy?_

If he was true with himself, Hotch knew quite reasonably that he and Emily were in no position to be back to normal and happy...whatever 'happiness' meant.

But, that being said, he had never expected he and Emily would end the same way as he and Haley.

Sinking back into the couch, Hotch let his breathing even out. Across the room, on the far wall opposite of the TV, a framed portrait of himself and Emily on their wedding day caught his wandering gaze. Emily was in his arms, their lips were locked, their faces were lit up with unadulterated joy. That day seemed so far away now, as if it had taken place in another world. It almost pained him to look at it. Almost.

The beautiful portrait was the last thing he saw...and then, his eyes fell closed as he let his body be overcome by an anxious state of sleep.

~.~.~

"Hey there, handsome."

Looking up from what had to be his fourth - and now empty - glass of scotch, Hotch gazed at the woman before him with red-rimmed eyes. Of course, she happened to be a brunette; upon giving her an apprehensive once-over, he couldn't help but compare her every asset to those of Emily. The nameless woman's breasts were marginally larger but probably fake. Emily's on the other hand...

In a flash, he was transported to a place where Emily, all supple porcelain skin and curves and ebony hair fanned out on his pillows, clutched to his shoulders in exquisite ecstasy and panted passionate statements of love into his ear. He would hover over her, his hands greedily roaming her body; her perfectly-sized breasts, the soft skin of her hips, the small of her back... And together, they would deliver to one another a mutual pleasure so profound. He missed it.

Hell, it had only been a day since she had left - since she had _run away _- and he already missed her like crazy.

"Hello?" The nameless woman brought him back to the present with her flirty voice and batted eyelashes. "Where'd you go?"

Hotch simply grunted in response.

The woman didn't catch the hint. "Want some company?" she asked, sitting on the barstool beside him. Her arm rested dangerously close to his.

"Not really," Hotch said, looking at her with an indifference he had previously directed towards Emily when she had professed her need for an escape.

"Oh, how come?" she pouted, leaning forward to speak more intimately with him. Hotch had to physically restrain himself from being rude and pointedly drawing back. "Handsome man like you, sitting alone at the bar with only his thoughts to keep him company...that's just not right." There was a brief heavy pause before she spoke once more. "You should get out there on the dance floor, handsome. It would do you some good."

"I think I'll pass," he said frankly.

"You sure?"

Hotch nodded curtly. "Dancing isn't really my thing." _Unless it's with Emily,_ that tiny voice added in once more. _Remember your honeymoon? Dirty dancing on the beach at night, when no one else was around..._

"It isn't, huh? Then what _is_ your thing?" Slowly, her fingers danced up his arm. "Show me. Or..._I _could always show you a good time, if you'd like."

Hotch sighed. "What's your name?"

"Nikki," she practically purred.

"Nikki...I'm sure you're a lovely lady," Hotch forced out politely. "But, no offense, I'd really prefer to be by myself right now."

"Not even _one_ dance?" she winked, ever the persistent woman.

"Not even one." Finally, he stretched out his hand, away from hers, unintentionally making his wedding ring visible. Whether or not Nikki saw it, Hotch didn't know; he was too busy wondering if the thin gold band even meant anything anymore.

Regardless, he refused to take it off.

Slowly, Nikki stood. "Well, alright. Have a nice night...?" She looked at him questioningly.

Hotch understood. "Aaron," he supplied.

"Have a nice night, Aaron," she said. Then, turning her back to him, she continued on down the bar, looking for yet another man to hopefully coax onto the dance floor with her. Turning her back to him, Nikki left him alone, just the way he had wanted.

Was it _really _what he wanted?

Touching a finger to his ring once more, Hotch couldn't help but remember a time after Haley had left and taken Jack with her, a time when he had been so faithless, only to have Emily take it upon herself to drive him to his apartment, and subtly tell him that he would _never_ be alone; not so long as she was around. With her help and eventual love, she would have described him as on the road to recovery then.

But how would she describe him now?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong> <strong>Thanks again for reading. <strong>Please...don't forget to review. No matter long or short, or signed or anonymous, I love hearing from you!<strong>******


	9. Cotton and Cashmere

**Author's Note: Thank you all_ so_ much for the outpouring of feedback the previous chapter received; I am so grateful. If I have to say one thing about this chapter, it's that it is heavy with parallelism; not just between Rossi and Hotch, but between Hotch and Emily as well. This installment is one of my favorites thus far, and I can only hope it will be one of yours as well. Thank you for reading!**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

* * *

><p>"How do you do it?" were the first words Hotch spoke when Rossi opened his front door.<p>

Wordlessly, Rossi let him into his house. He wasn't the least bit surprised to see Hotch there, now slumped on one of his coffee brown couches. The news of Michael's passing had hit home _hard_, and brought back memories of his own little boy...and Carolyn.

_James David Rossi._

Which was exactly why Hotch was there now. He had no one to turn to; Jack was at Jessica's for the weekend, Emily was_ gone_, and the rest of the team...they just wouldn't understand.

"How did you do it?" Hotch asked again, his eyes bloodshot, his voice raspy.

Rossi sighed, then moved to sit across from his friend. "I didn't," he muttered pathetically. "Carolyn did. She took the fall out worse than I did; which I understand now, because a mother's connection to her child..." He shook his head. "It's incomparable. Even now, all these years later, it still hurts."

"But how did you get by?" The expression on Hotch's face was a desperate one.

"Alcohol," Rossi said frankly. "When the house was empty, I screamed. I punched holes in the wall. I threw things and broke things and -" Their gazes met. "How are _you_?"

"The alcohol can only numb the pain so much," Hotch said revealingly.

"What about Emily?"

Hotch bowed his head pitifully. "I don't know."

Rossi stiffened. _No..._ "What do you mean, you don't know?" he asked slowly, reluctantly awaiting his answer.

"I fucked up, Dave. She's gone. She left - and I don't know where we are, relationship-wise. She's coming over tomorrow to gather her stuff." His shoulders began to shake. "Dave, she wants a _divorce_. And when she told me, I couldn't even think of a way to keep her. I didn't even know if I _wanted_ her to stay; she had a point, all I could do was insult her." He was outright rambling now. "But I'm not the bad guy here, am I? How am I supposed to go on without her? Or is it even possible to go on _with_ her?"

"Aaron -"

"I don't know anything anymore," Hotch moaned. "All I know is that I want Michael back."

And then, he began to cry.

"Aaron, look at me," Rossi said gently, seated directly by Hotch now. "None of this is your fault."

_"Then why did she leave?"_ he flat-out yelled.

"Because she needed a change of scenery for a while," Rossi answered sagely. "As of now, your house contains too many bad memories for her. Carolyn and I went through this exact same situation."

"I hate her," Hotch growled. "I hate her so much."

"No, you don't," Rossi said patiently.

"You don't know, Dave; I hate her for blaming herself. I hate her for accusing me. I hate her for leaving Jack. I hate her for being so..._beautiful_." He hiccuped slightly. "I've had these recurring nightmares. She and I will be in our bedroom...I'll be making love to her. And it'll be absolutely perfect. Then, it'll fast forward to the hospital, and she'll be in labor...and together, we'll bring a precious baby boy into the world. But_ every single time, _the baby doesn't survive. _Every single time_, I'm forced to relive the anguish of losing Michael." Hotch struggled to reign in his sobs. "Will it _ever_ end?" he groaned. "Please...tell me it will."

Rossi pulled Hotch into a much-needed brotherly embrace. "You and Emily will get through this. I promise you that."

"You and Carolyn didn't."

Grimly truthful silence blanketed the room.

~.~.~

Emily shivered as she made her way to Hotch's front door - no, she internally corrected, _their_ front door. It wasn't that she was cold; wrapped up in a scarlet double-breasted coat, she was as warm as could be.

She was _nervous._

Logically, she told herself she had no reason to be. This was the man she had known for close to seven years, the man she had loved for that same amount of time, the man she had been married to for over a year. Yet, around him, her emotions were uncontrollable. Emily had prided herself for so long in her ability of schooling her expressions, of remaining levelheaded and _inward. _She was never not composed...but with Hotch? All bets were off because of the way he made her feel. He had made her feel beautiful, loved, and at home every day of their marriage.

And yet, all she could do was yell in his face - and _yes_, run away.

She was slowly regaining the tiniest semblance of composure when the door swung open - and there he was. Her heart leapt to her throat as he took her in, his expression unreadable.

"Hi," Emily whispered.

Hotch swallowed thickly. "Hi." He didn't quite know who made the first move, but in a second, he was allowing her to step forward into his arms for a tender hug. Because, even if the two of them were too stubborn to admit it, the five days they had been apart had been the longest five days of their lives.

Her face nestled familiarly in the crook of his neck, Emily was just getting ready to rise on her tiptoes, press her lips to his, and beg for forgiveness, beg for him to take her back...

...when Hotch pulled out of the embrace.

Again, his expression was inscrutable. "You look...different," he said pensively. It wasn't the exhaustively concealed bags beneath her eyes, or the newfound thinness of her frame. There was something unfamiliar about her lips. Not the shade of pink, but...

Suddenly, he understood.

"Have you been _smoking_ again?" He added the 'again' because he knew she had done so after Foyet, after Doyle, in Paris...all times of great stress.

Emily's eyes widened imperceptibly. "Smoking?" she echoed, feigning incredulity. "No, I - I -"

But she was interrupted by a high-pitched, jubilant squeal as a young boy vaulted down the hallway and into her arms.

_"Mommy!"_

Emily caught him in the nick of time. "Hi, Jack Jack," she crooned, covering his cheeks with kisses.

The unassuming five year old grinned from ear to ear. "Did you have fun with grandma and grandpa?"

She froze. "Did I have fun with..." Something flashed in Hotch's eyes as he caught her gaze. _"Yes_. Oh, yes, I had loads of fun. They told me to tell you they missed you lots."

"I missed_ you_ lots."

Emily placed him on the ground. "So did I, sweetheart. Now, uh...go ahead and run inside for a bit while I talk to your daddy."

"Okay!" And at that, he bounded off.

Once she was sure the coast was clear, Emily turned back to face Hotch. "You didn't tell him?" she hissed.

Hotch was livid in a heartbeat. "What was I supposed to say, Emily? _'Sorry, Jack, Mommy won't be coming back home. Remember how your real mommy took you away for a while and didn't let me see you for a really long time? That's kind of the same thing that's happening right now, because apparently you're not worth the affection of _both_ your parents.'"_

Emily's eyes stung. "Aaron..." she began weakly.

"_No_, Emily. I spoke to Dave yesterday, and if there's one thing I learned, it's this. When Haley and I were going through our divorce, Jack was the only one that could hold me together. He was my number one priority then, just as he should be now. And he will be," Hotch said determinately. "You need to understand that."

"What are you implying here, Aaron?" she questioned. "What are you trying to say, that I don't love Jack?" Emily was even more incredulous than before.

"Is that not what you said just the other day?" he countered.

_"What? _No, I - don't go twisting my words!"

Hotch simply folded his arms over his chest and glanced back behind him. "Your belongings are already in boxes," he said pointedly.

"How kind of you," she bit out, her voice dripping with sarcasm. _Don't let him see your tears, d_on't let him see your tears, d_on't let him see your tears.___ Emily was heading inside the house when suddenly, she stopped and brought her gaze up to meet Hotch's. "You know what the sad thing is, Aaron?" she said worriedly gently. "I didn't come here to get my belongings; I came here to apologize. But if this is really what you want -"

"Because I was the one who brought up divorce in the first place, right?"

She shook her head violently. "Don't you understand? You were _right_, okay? I wasn't thinking straight then. I said a lot of things in the heat of the moment and I'm -"

However shocked by her revelation he might have been, Hotch showed no outward signs of emotion. Emily wasn't the only one who was a master at schooling her expressions, after all. His cool voice cut through the tension in the air like a knife through butter. "I think we both just...need some time on our own for a while."

_"But -"_

"Just give me the papers and I'll sign them."

~.~.~

After an hour's worth of more arguments and of Jack clinging around her neck, screaming at and begging his father to force her to stay, Emily found herself sitting cross-legged on the customary bed in her old apartment. The walls were starkly bare, and Emily planned on keeping them that way. It wasn't comfortable in the slightest; but then again, neither was she. Slowly - because she had nothing else to do - Emily opened the boxes Hotch had packed for her; the boxes filled with her belongings. She didn't know what she was looking for...she didn't even know if she _was_ looking for something. In fact, it was as if her hands were moving of their own volition, showing her something she didn't want to see.

When she reached the bottom of her second box, Emily found just what that 'something' was.

Her eyes fogging over for the slightest of seconds, Emily sniffled as she pulled out a light blue dress shirt from the cardboard container. The material was as soft and cool as ever, and just by touching it, she could feel his arms wrapped around her in a safe embrace. Burying her face into the stitched cotton, Emily couldn't help but breathe in the comforting, unique scent of citrus and Old Spice and _Aaron_. She remembered wearing that same shirt - and only that shirt - and cooking breakfast for him, she remembered laughing with him, she remembered lying in bed beside him, the thin shirt the only barrier between their naked frames.

Emily bit her lip until it bled, the action substituting her instinct to crawl up into a ball and rock herself to sleep. Numbly, she wondered what had gone through his mind when he had placed his shirt in her box; maybe he knew that the one way she had gotten to sleep some nights was by surrounding herself in his embrace, his cologne hanging onto her skin, forever reminding her of his presence.

She wondered if he really did care.

Logically, she told herself that she couldn't judge him for his behavior that morning, just as she had hoped he wouldn't judge hers. Looking back, she knew leaving hadn't been the best executive decision on her part. But what else could she do? If she stayed, she would jail herself in the midst of conflict and worsening depression. Every day, she would wake up and walk down the hall, purposefully averting her gaze as she walked past Michael's nursery and the blank frames on the walls. Every day, her heart would break a little more. And that was something she didn't want to subject Hotch or Jack to! She felt unbelievably guilty for leaving...but she couldn't think of any choice, no, not when she needed a change of pace for a while.

Maybe Hotch had been right. Maybe they really did need some time for themselves. She had been ready to deny it and beg for even the slightest semblance of togetherness, but if the togetherness wasn't there, they couldn't fake it, could they?

Emily hadn't wanted to be judged; but, reflecting on her actions, Emily knew she would be when Hotch went back into his kitchen - for it was _his_ kitchen now, not hers. When he would find out that his liquor cabinet was empty, that she had flushed the contents, and smashed the bottles in a fit of blinding rage, he would hate her possibly even more than he already did.

After all, she just didn't want him to develop alcoholism. It was as simple as that. An addiction was the last thing he needed to send him even further into his downward spiral. Even miles away in her apartment, Emily still worried over his welfare, over his health and sanity and state of mind. She _cared_ about him. But, even with the rose-colored glasses she was wearing, Emily knew that Hotch would be mad...

...almost as mad as she had been when she had seen that he wasn't wearing his wedding ring.

It wasn't anger so much as it was sadness. She had tried to deny their separation by delaying the serving of the divorce papers, by making up innumerable excuses, by _never taking off her wedding ring._ It meant too much to her to take off yet. But he had done just that.

What was she supposed to think?

Maybe, this time, _she_ had been right; maybe he really had moved on.

~.~.~

He hadn't.

With Jack having cried himself to sleep, Hotch stumbled into his bedroom - _their_ old bedroom - in a blind frenzy. He had wondered why his hand had felt so light; and glancing down at his finger, he had almost had a panic attack right then and there. _What if Emily saw you without it? What would she think? _he yelled to himself. _Where is it?_ _I can't have lost it...no, anything but the ring. God, let me find it._

Wracking his brain, Hotch tried to remember. He saw himself burrowed beneath the heavy blankets, willing away any images of Emily that were wandering into his head. He saw himself slip off his wedding band and run a trembling finger along the engraved words on the inside. He saw himself begin to cry because he and Emily had already proven the golden words wrong.

_Amor vincit omnia_. Love conquers all.

Apparently it didn't! Hotch felt like screaming all over again. Nonetheless, the images kept coming, flashing before his mind's eye in rapid succession. He saw himself bring the ring to his lips and kiss it, wishing he could be kissing _his wife_ instead. He saw himself whip toward the bedroom door as he heard the doorbell ring. He saw himself get up, drop the ring to the bed...

The bed. It had to be there, among the sheets.

As frantic as he was, Hotch's hands were steady as he pulled the sheets aside, his sharp gaze seeking out the thin gold circle with which he and Emily had promised to love and cherish one another, for better and for worse. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. _Come on, come on, come on,_ he groaned aloud, _where is it?_

Briefly, he wondered why he cared so much that Emily may have potentially seen him without it; after all, _she_ had been the one to initiate the divorce, hadn't she?

_No_, the voice of his conscience said. _You heard what she told you. She wanted to apologize. She wanted to come back, but you didn't let her._

His heart sank.

And then, when he had just about given up hope, Hotch saw it. It wasn't just the ring, however, but also, a flash of strawberry pink. The fabric was soft to the touch; cashmere, he remembered her explaining. It was Emily's favorite shirt...yet he had kept it for himself.

Why? It was the one question that had so many answers, many of which no one wanted to hear.

_Why had he kept it?_ Maybe because the delicate fabric still held the comforting perfume of Emily's skin. Maybe because she had worn it on their first date. Maybe because he could distinctly remember peeling it from her gentle frame and baring her to his reverent gaze.

Or maybe it was because he wanted an excuse to see her again. _Emily, _he'd say,_ you forgot something._ And maybe she would smile for him, at least one last time. Or maybe she wouldn't. Maybe she wouldn't care...just as he assumed she wouldn't. Sinking to the bedroom floor resolutely, Hotch let loose, buried his face in the fragrant pink cashmere, and cried himself to sleep.

Little did he know, mere miles away, Emily was doing the exact same thing.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thoughts? Please drop me a line if you have the time; there's nothing I love more than hearing your feedback. Thank you in advance!<strong>**


	10. Bittersweet Apprehension

**Author's Note: Slowly but surely, we're seeing Hotch and Emily experience some progress, as you all will see especially in the next two chapters. The 'progress' is back and forth, however; more and more feelings are rising to the surface, and not all of them are good. This chapter (and the next one) will deal primarily with Jack, not just as a child in the crossfires of parental insecurities and misapprehensions, but also as a healing medium for both Hotch and Emily, to keep them grounded. As always, thank you for taking the time to read.**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>"Jesus, Emily."<em>

_"Oh, Aaron…please…oh my God, I'm so close."_

_Burying his face between her perfectly sized breasts, Hotch covered Emily's porcelain smooth body with the sweetest of kisses. It had been too long since they had gotten enough time to themselves; it had been too long since they had gotten the chance to enjoy themselves in the most purely carnal and passionate way known to man. And now that they _had_ the time…well, they were planning on using every second to their advantage._

_"Come on, baby," he panted in her ear, his voice low and deliciously sultry. He pistoned his hips forward even harder and faster than he had been doing so before, the slick drive of flesh against flesh bringing them both a pleasure so profound. The ecstasy was nearly unfathomable - and uncontrollable, for that matter. His lips moved up to meet hers in a searing, electric kiss that she eagerly returned with just as much fervor. "Come on, Em, gorgeous, let loose. Just this once." Emily's eyes slammed shut. "Uh uh," he chided, "Look at me; I want to see those beautiful dark eyes of yours."_

_"Aaron, I don't think I can – oh!" Her hands wrapped instinctively around his neck, pulling them flush against each other, assuring that their bodies weren't even a single inch apart. Their kisses, their touches, their rhythm became infinitely more frantic…and then…and then…_

_"_Yes! _Aaron!"_

_Hotch roared out his release as he held Emily's exhaustedly limp body to his, blindingly white stars invading his vision at the same time. He would never get tired of this; sharing his heart, body, and soul with the woman he loved, and having her do the same with him. The physical pleasure aside, he always felt liberated and light after a good night with Emily; she never failed to bring out the good in him, to kiss his qualms away and leave him in the arms of an angel – literally. She was his angel, his savior, his best friend._

_And now, tangled in the sheets, she was fast asleep; or at least, he thought she was, until he felt her shift in his warm embrace, and felt her soft lips hunting along the shell of his ear._

_"Mmmm…wow…"_

_He shot her his most handsome smile. "Well? You think we made a baby?"_

_She laughed her sweet laugh. "I almost hope we didn't. The _trying_ is going to be an awful lot of fun," she said, her voice breathy._

_"Think we should try once more tonight, just to be safe?" Hotch teased, his hands already running over her supple curves._

_"I think…I think that sounds like a wonderful plan."_

~.~.~

Hotch jolted from his sleep with an incoherent mumble, a sheen of sweat covering his skin. He took an entire minute just thinking about how realistic the dream had seemed, how real Emily's skin had felt beneath the pads of his fingers, when he remembered - _Jack_.

His eyes widened in shock. Immediately stumbling out of bed, he began berating himself, which had, unfortunately, become quite the regular pastime for him nowadays. _You told yourself you'd only lie down for a minute; it was supposed to be a brief snooze, not an hour long nap!_

However, any worries he might have had were gone from his mind the moment he laid eyes on his son. Jack was sitting right where his father had left him, on the couch in front of the TV, watching one of his favorite shows. He seemed happy enough from afar; the poor boy knew more suffering than anyone his age, but he was still able to soothe Hotch's heart by a single bear hug. He was always somehow able to see past the bad and focus on the good...he was able to_cope_.

Hotch was almost jealous.

Silently, he made his way to the couch and pulled Jack into his arms. "Hey, buddy," he whispered. "Sorry I left you alone for such a long time. I didn't realize I was so tired." He dropped a kiss into the boy's sandy blonde hair. "You okay? You hungry or anything?"

Jack shook his head, enraptured by the characters on the screen before him. "I'm okay, Daddy. Spongebob just ended and now I'm watching The Wiggles. Wanna watch with me?"

"Of course I do." Hotch smiled a tiny smile as Jack burrowed into his side, getting comfortable. The two Hotchner boys were silent for a while. The kids' show made for a suitable distraction for a long while, but apparently not for one that was long enough; for this time, even Jack noticed his father's unease. The way he addressed it, however, was far from what Hotch had expected.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, Jack?"

The boy furrowed his eyebrows in the same fashion his father did, then rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Do...do you still cry sometimes?" Hotch was thrown into a stunned state, but luckily, Jack wasn't done speaking. "'Cause there's a kid in my class who says that...that only _girls_ cry. But I cry sometimes, when I get hurt or when Mommy left. And you cried when Mommy left, too, and when Michael...when Michael left."

Hotch averted his gaze for a split second, then turned to look at Jack's small fingers, not calloused by the cold metal of a gun, or blistered by hard work or blood or sweat or tears. What was it he had overheard Emily telling Garcia before she disappeared? _"I know what the world can do to someone who only sees beauty in it."_ No matter how much denial of their situation Hotch was in, he couldn't afford Jack losing his innocence; what little sanity and stability he had left in his six year old world. "I'm all cried out," he finally answered, careful with his words.

"What do you mean?"

"Even if I want to cry some more, I've already cried too much. Crying is good sometimes, because it can help alleviate - get rid of - stress and all sorts of emotions. But if you cry too much...there's no way to move on." Hotch shook his head. "Does that make sense?"

"Kind of. But I thought you and Mommy didn't want to move on?"

Hotch stiffened slightly. "Where did you hear that?"

Jack fiddled with one of the decoration pillows on the couch. "You and Mommy were...were yelling one time and I heard Mommy say she couldn't..."

Hotch remembered the conversation exactly. Hearing it recounted by his son only made his heart hurt more, however. "No, no, Jack. We _do_ want to be able to move on, eventually...we know it won't be anytime soon, but moving on is healthy." _Isn't it?_ "What we _don't_ want to do is forget. We..." His voice broke. Clearing his throat, Hotch met Jack's almost shy gaze. "What about you, buddy? I'm sorry your mom and I haven't talked about it - about Michael - with you," he apologized genuinely.

"I'm okay," he mumbled, his eyes seeking those of his father. "I'm okay. But...Mikey was so little, though. I dunno why he had to leave, Daddy. 'Cause I was really excited to have a baby brother and I was gonna teach him how to play baseball and then he would've been on Little League with me...and he made you and Mommy smile, just like I make you and Mommy smile." Jack sniffled a tiny bit. "I miss her, Daddy."

Hotch figured he had misheard Jack. "I miss Michael, too, buddy."

"_No_, not just Mikey; I miss _Mommy_," Jack corrected. He motioned to the TV. "She likes The Wiggles a lot, remember? She always watches it with me."

Hotch couldn't help but get defensive. Jack was _his_ son, after all! "_I_ like The Wiggles, too, Jack. Especially the one in the yellow shirt; he's really funny. What's his name, Murray?"

"No, that's Greg, Daddy. Murray is the one in the red shirt. And Mommy knows all the songs. Do _you_ know all the songs?" Jack pouted slightly.

Hotch struggled to keep his face an emotionless mask as Jack's cries for Emily continued. Little did the young boy know, he was breaking his father. His relationship with Jack had always been a sensitive topic. Hotch knew he hadn't been the most exemplary parent, especially when he had turned down the chance to retire and spend more time with Jack. What had people said of his priorities then? Hotch didn't want to know. But ever since Haley's unfortunate death, he had worked tirelessly to be more involved in Jack's life; whether it had to do with school, soccer, baseball, or just lazy weekends between the two of them. But then came Emily. Hotch couldn't blame his son for being head over heels; he had been, too.

_Had been?_ he thought wryly. _Who are you kidding, Hotchner? You still are._

But no matter how beautiful or amazing Emily was, Hotch resented her just the tiniest bit for being more comfortable around Jack than he could ever be. And Jack wasn't even her _real_ son! Long cultivated anger rose deep in his heart. Yes, he loved Emily...but who did _Jack_ love more?

Maybe some day, he would realize just how illogical he was being. Maybe some day, he would see that Jack admired and loved no one more than he admired his father. Maybe some day, he would learn that Emily had no secret agenda to take Jack away from him, or turn the young boy against him. Maybe some day, he would see that Emily still loved him, too.

But as for now?

A little whimpering noise built up in the back of Jack's throat. "I want her, Daddy," he whined.

Hotch finally snapped. "Well, she's not coming back." His voice was terse, cold.

_"No!_ Mommy loves me, she told me she loves me," Jack outright cried. "Maybe she doesn't love _you_ anymore, but she'll always love me!"

Wishing beyond belief that he could rid Jack's last words from his memory, Hotch bowed his head shamefully, holding a squirming, fighting Jack to his chest. "Jack," he whispered petrifiedly, his self-hate growing. "I'm _so_ sorry for yelling at you. I didn't mean it; you know I love you more than anything in the world. That boy in your class was wrong. Crying _is_ okay," he gasped out, Jack's fat tears soaking through his shirt. "Shhhh, crying is okay."

"Make her come back," Jack croaked.

Hotch stared at Jack for the longest of minutes...and then, sighing almost reluctantly, he reached for his phone on the side of the table, and dialed the all too familiar number from memory.

~.~.~

Unsure of how to continue, Emily simply stared at her gaunt reflection in the boutique mirror. Not for the first time, her thoughts didn't dwell on Hotch, but on his son - on sweet, innocent, handsome little Jack. Each time she pictured his face in her mind, she grew a bit sadder, but it was something she was learning to deal with; something she knew she would have to deal with in the end, if she ever wanted to be able to...to move on.

It was still something that was difficult to fathom; life without Michael. But so was life without Jack.

So was life without Hotch.

_Hotch_.

Emily missed him more than she could put into words. She wondered briefly if he felt the same way, before shaking her head and staring back at her reflection. She was an entirely new person, not just emotionally, but physically as well. Her hair was shorter, its style more sleek. Its dark tips barely reached past her shoulders, and bangs shielded the skin of her forehead. Her lips seemed thinner, her eyes darker.

Emily was at the boutique for a reason. Her pants were too loose on her, her shirts too baggy. She had lost weight, and while she still looked every bit as stunning as she had before, it was _different_ - and uncomfortably so. Now dressed in black jeans and a cobalt blue and black striped blouse that actually _fit_, Emily felt more human...but still not completely so. A hole still marred her heart, a hole that just two boys could fill. Emily couldn't remember a time when she had felt lonelier in her life.

She missed her family.

But Hotch didn't want her.

Her thoughts drifting to the coldness outside the boutique's does, Emily mentally berated herself for neglecting to bring a coat with her. It had been nice for but a minute, feeling the freezing air on her skin. It wasn't the chill itself, but the fact that she had been able to _feel_. The prickling on her skin reminded her that she was still alive...no matter how dead she felt inside.

Because no matter what length of time passed - it had been two months to the day so far -, the pain of loss was just as sharp. It was hard to think of the glorious one month of Michael's life without thinking, also, of the fallout after his tragic death. To an extent, Emily wished they had never gotten pregnant; they wouldn't be suffering now, they would be together, they would possibly still be basking in the glory of their post-marital bliss.

But then, Emily thought of the sheer joy on Hotch's face when she had broken the news and showed him the fuzzy sonogram picture. She remembered him laying her beside the fire that night and making love to her, she remembered his midnight ice cream runs, she remembered being so happy that their relationship's growth seemed to never end. And it hadn't then, if the look in Hotch's eyes as she presented his son to him for the first time was any indication. It was a look of unadulterated affection, a look of joy at their companionship and dedication to one another. The pros far outweighed the cons; which was no surprise, because that was what love was all about.

_"Ma'am?"_

The unfamiliar voice effectively jolted Emily from her reverie and back to reality. She blinked. "Yes?"

The cashier pointed to the screen in front of her. "Your total comes to sixty-seven dollars and twelve cents."

"Oh. Right." Emily fished out her credit card and gave it a swipe. "Sorry," she murmured. "I guess I was just...lost in thought."

The cashier said nothing pertinent in response; she simply printed out a receipt and handed it, along with several shopping bags, to Emily. "Have a nice day, ma'am."

_A nice day? I don't know what you mean,_ Emily wanted to say. Needless to say, she remained silent, instead pondering whether or not Hotch would like her new look. Then, sadly, she realized it didn't matter, even if he did.

_Nothing_ mattered anymore.

Or at least, that's what Emily was telling herself before her phone rang and she read the caller ID. A bittersweet apprehension filled her veins as she brought the phone to her ear.

"Aaron?"

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thank you ever so much for taking the time out of your day to read this story. I appreciate it, and would sincerely love it if you could leave me a review; no matter how short or long, your feedback is the best inspiration and motivation for me. No account needed!<strong>**


	11. Mixed Signals

**Author's Note: For some odd reason, I have the feeling you all will love at least part of this chapter. Or maybe that's the masochist in me speaking. Either way, thank you so very much for reading - it's greatly appreciated!**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

* * *

>"Aaron?"<p><p>

Hotch fought the urge to rejoice at the sound of her beautiful voice. "Emily. Hi."

"Hey." Emily fidgeted slightly as the tips of her newly cut hair tickled the skin of her collarbone unfamiliarly. "What-what's up?"

"Can you come over?"

An unabashedly and stubbornly hopeful expression tainted Emily's previously school features. "Sure, I -"

"For Jack." Both Emily's expression and heart fell. He just _had_ to have added that last bit. _Well, if that's how he's going to be_, she thought bitterly.

"For Jack," Emily repeated, her voice as pitifully emotionless as Hotch's had been. "Everything's okay?"

"Everything's fine. He just..." Hotch swallowed thickly, "misses you."

_And his father? _Emily wondered. _Does he miss me, too?_ But instead of asking what she so longed to know, Emily settled with a sigh. "I miss _him_, too." Hotch grimaced at her strategically placed emphasis._She always did give as good as she got_, he fessed to himself. "I'll be there in an hour."

"Okay," Hotch said simply; there were no thanks, no 'I love you's, no pleas to stay on the line and continue talking - like the good old days. "I'll see you then."

Emily couldn't resist. "Tell Jack I love him."

And before Hotch could say anything in protest, or even just in response, Emily had hung up, and was striding purposefully out of the clothing boutique, a heaviness in her boot-clad steps.

~.~.~

"You cut your hair." It was the first thing Hotch noticed when he opened the front door to reveal Emily, anxiously pacing back and forth.

Emily looked at him curiously. "I did," she nodded. Her next words were out of her mouth before she could even think. "Do you like it?"

Hotch's fingers itched to run through the silken strands; to cup her now flushed face in his hans and kiss her senseless. Instead, he settled with, "It's...different."

"Isn't everything, now?" she countered. Hotch was silent, and Emily had no choice but to drop her gaze to the ground. "Where's Jack?"

"He's coming." Sighing, he had a change of heart. "Listen, Emily -"

But he was interrupted as a small body collided full-force into Emily's. _"Mommy_._" _Jack's arms wrapped tightly around her waist; he had no intention of ever letting go again. "I missed you so much. They showed The Wiggles today and you weren't here to sing along with me." His bottom lip quivered. "Why'd you have to go?"

"Remember what I told you, Jack?" Hotch answered, his voice quiet as he felt Emily's eyes on him. "Mommy and Daddy are going through a...rough patch. We just need a little break."

"But -"

Emily knelt to the boy's height. "I'm so sorry, Jack," she cooed. "You know how much I love The Wiggles, and you know how much I love _you_." She touched his nose playfully. "But I'll tell you what; how about we go somewhere fun today?"

Jack sniffled. "Where?"

"Anywhere you want."

That caught the young boy's attention. "Anywhere?" he echoed disbelievingly. "We can go...get ice cream?"

"Of course," Emily indulged him. Above her, Hotch stood, his arms crossed over his hard chest. "We can go see a movie, too, if you want."

"Really?" Jack's eyes were as wide as saucers now. "And then we can go to the park? I can go really high on the swings, wanna see?"

"I'd _love_ to. I think that would be so much fun, don't you?"

"Yeah!" Jack whirled around to grin at his father. "Come with us, Daddy! _Please?_"

Disappointed in himself once again, Hotch shot Emily a reproachful, resentful glare before answering, "I think I'll pass, Jack. I'll let you and your mom have all the fun," he said flatly.

Jack turned back to Emily. "Does this mean we can spend the _entire_ day together?"

Emily's eyes shone with an indiscernible emotion. "It sure does. In fact, why don't you give Daddy a hug and kiss, then go sit down in my car? He and I need to talk about some boring adult stuff anyway.

"Okay." Jack embraced his father, who almost refused to let him go, before running back to the door. "Oh, and I like your hair, Mommy."

A genuine smile - the first in a very long time - touched Emily's lips. "Thank you, Jack. You just made my day." Together, she and Hotch watched Jack climb into the car.

And in a second, the tension in the air was back. Emily took a tentative step forward. "Earlier, before Jack came running and joined us...what were you going to tell me?"

But Hotch just shook his head. "Nothing. It's nothing important," he lied.

"Aaron..."

"Just give me a call when you and Jack are done."

Emily looked at him intently. "You don't want me to bring him home?"

"No; I probably won't be here for the entire time he's gone, anyway," Hotch said, purposefully avoiding her gaze. All of a sudden, the thought of Emily spending so much time with Jack made him sick to his stomach. He hadn't the heart to tell himself that Emily had every right for visitation - and that she _didn't_ have any ulterior motives; after all, Jack was legally still her son. She had signed the papers. They'd had proof.

But paper was paper.

"You won't?" Emily responded, her neatly manicured eyebrows knitting together in a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Where are you going?"

Hotch didn't know _why_, but for some reason, he wanted to say something hurtful, something that would chip away at Emily's heart in the exact same way her words and actions had done to his. They were sending each other mixed signals, and they both knew it. One minute, they were domestic and - God forbid - almost normal...and the next, they were spitting fiery words at each other. It was the stubbornness taking control; Elizabeth Kübler-Ross would say they were past denial, bargaining, and depression, and simply lingering on the _anger_.

They hurt each other and hurt themselves. There was no way out. No gains, only losses...

Finally, the hateful statement fell from Hotch's lips. "I'm going to head down to that corner store down the street. Imagine my surprise when I opened the liquor cabinet, in need of something to numb the pain you've inflicted -"

"_I've_ inflicted the pain?"

"- only to find that all the bottles were gone. No wonder the guest bathroom smelled like alcohol the other day." Hotch's eyes were icy. "Mind your own business next time."

Emily groaned in exhaustion. She really hadn't wanted to argue some more, not when she had Jack to attend to. "Newsflash, Aaron: you _are_ my business because _I care for you._"

Hotch actually laughed. "You care for me, Emily? That's a fat joke."

"Fine!" Emily snapped. "Go ahead; buy five nice bottles of whiskey or scotch. Hell, buy ten. But it's _your_ heart and _your _liver."

"Since when have you cared for my heart, Emily?"

Emily was actually shaking with fury. "I could say the same for you," she hissed. Scowling, she turned to the door. "Don't expect my call for several hours."

"I won't."

"Good." Clenching and unclenching her firsts, Emily disappeared onto the driveway. Behind her, the front door slammed precariously.

~.~.~

"Wow, Jack, that was _really_ high!" Emily beamed as the boy came running over, giggling in result of his grand success. He plopped down beside her on the bench, his little chest heaving. "As for your reward..."

Jack cheered as Emily brandished a double-dip cone of Rocky Road. "Thank you," he managed excitedly, before digging into the cold outside as well; the dessert was just too delicious. "I _love_ ice cream," he gushed.

"Well, guess what?" Emily countered. She pressed a kiss to Jack's cheek, making him smile once more. "I love _you_."

Jack was silent, eating his reward indulgently, for a long minute. But then, he couldn't help it. "What about Daddy?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you still love Daddy?"

The air actually whooshed out of Emily's lungs. "I..." The question was so unexpected that, for a second, Emily forgot how to speak. "It's complicated, Jack."

"Is it something that I'll only understand when I'm an adult?" Jack asked, wrinkling his nose. "'Cause I don't like it when Daddy tells me that. I like knowing things."

"And that's what makes you such a smart little boy. But when I said it's complicated...I guess what I meant is that I don't _not_ love him. But there are so many things that healthy relationships rely on...and right now, so many of those things are just falling apart."

"Because of Mikey?"

Emily sniffled. "Michael is a big part of it, yes. But sometimes, I think...I'm partially to blame. If I hadn't told your daddy I wanted a divorce - and I _don't_, I know that now! - then maybe things could've worked out. I don't know. But lately, I've realized that the one person who could help me through this is the one I'm pushing away, and -"

"Daddy says it's not your fault."

"He does?" Emily croaked out.

Always unassuming, Jack nodded wisely. "He-he said you're just under lots of...stress? And that everyone copes differently, and..." he crunched down on the waffle cone, "yeah."

Emily shut her eyes, but one single world slipped past her hurriedly built walls. _"Yes."_

The young boy was understandably confused. "Huh?"

_"Yes_, Jack," Emily whispered. "_Yes_, I still love your father," she confessed whole-heartedly. "I can't possibly _not_ love him."

~.~.~

Hotch didn't expect this, of course.

Dazedly drunk beyond belief, a low growl rumbled throughout his chest as he stumbled about through their kitchen. Already, he had emptied a bottle; he knew his growing habit was anything but healthy, but at least it helped him _forget._ With Michael's death, he had lost all faith in life's predictability. He had been so ready to experience all of those firsts again, with Emily, the love of his life, this time; Michael's first word, Michael's first steps, Michael's first day of school.

But then, sweet Michael had been whisked away. And now, Emily had left him, his son resented him, and he had no way to grieve.

Finally screaming out in frustration, Hotch flung the empty glass at the wall, watching it shatter into a million tiny shards that fell onto the polished wooden floor; the same wooden floor he could remember laying Emily on, by their fireplace, the night they had found out they were pregnant. They had made sweet love, their dampened skin warmed by the orange-red flames. That night had been so perfect...

And now, practically a year later, any semblance of perfection was long lost - and possibly never to be found again.

Realizing just how right Rossi had been, Hotch, in blind fury, reached beside him for whatever he could grab. His fingers curled around a vase, a vase he remembered watching Emily buy at a garage sale a couple months back. She had loved it from the moment she laid eyes on it, with its smooth white sheen and turquoise and gold etched lines. It was heavy in his hands, just as his memories with Emily rested heavily in his heart.

That was the final straw.

Throwing the vase at the far wall, Hotch listened with satisfaction to the sound of it breaking. He was going through the worst of downward spirals, and he knew it; but there was nothing else he could do. In rapid succession, he saw Jack yelling at him and clinging to Emily instead, he saw himself and Emily holding each other in the hospital waiting room on that horrid day, he saw himself standing over Michael, crying because his baby boy couldn't breathe...

It just too much. It was _all_ too much.

Falling back against the wall behind him, Hotch succumbed to the dry sobs that wracked his frames. He hadn't been lying when he told Jack that he was all cried out, for no tears were shed in that moment. But his stomach lurched dangerously with every second that passed, until finally, Hotch could take it no more. He blundered over to the nearest bathroom and emptied his stomach of its contents - mainly alcohol and stale chicken from the night before.

Hotch had never hated himself more than he did in that moment. He felt so _weak_; this was something Emily should be doing, not him. But then, he realized...

Emily.

_Emily._

Her now pallid face sprung to his mind's eye. Once again, Hotch's stomach turned over - but for a different reason this time. It was the _guilt_. All along, he had put so much weight on Emily's shoulders, waiting for her to crack. He had actually wanted to see her suffer, to tell himself that she was paying for the hell he was being dragged through in result. But God, he had been so wrong! He had been so_selfish_. Hotch had even said it himself; he couldn't begin to imagine how a mother would feel after such a drastic loss. Emily had fostered Michael's life and given him everything she had for _ten_ months. Yet, there Hotch was, yelling at her, hurting her, and driving her away, when deep down inside...

...he just wanted to hold her.

Angry now at himself for making Emily cry all those nights in a row, Hotch thoughtlessly lashed out with a fist at the bathroom wall. Debilitating pain shot up his arm, but Hotch managed to bite back his scream this time. Through white-hot flames licking at his nerves, Hotch was able to make out a fist-sized hole in the wall. It wasn't enough, though; nothing would ever be enough.

Hissing through his teeth as he tried - to no success - to move his fingers, Hotch bit out a curse then used his other hand to wipe at his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Emily," he whispered hoarsely.

And then, the broken pain blackened his vision and swallowed him whole.

~.~.~

"And then my teacher called us all to the front of the class and I was one of the only people who could recite my ABCs perfectly! All 'cause of you and Daddy," Jack grinned proudly. "And then she gave me a candy bar for a reward!"

Emily indulged the little boy with an affectionate squeeze of his shoulder. "An entire candy bar? Wow," she said theatrically. "Did you eat it all in one sitting?"

Jack giggled, then nodded excitedly. "Uh huh. It tasted really good. But I got a tummy ache 'cause of too much sugar. That's what Daddy said. But I don't think you can ever have too much sugar."

"Says the boy who had a double dip cone of Rocky Road ice cream just minutes ago," Emily teased.

"You had ice cream, too!" Jack pointed out. "But yours was a gross flavor," he said seconds later, sticking his tongue out playfully.

"Hey now, someday you will learn to love coffee just like the rest of us."

"No, I won't," he said, smiling the very same adorable smile that never failed to make Emily's heart skip a beat. He had the same dimples as his father; the same dimples as Michael. "I won't ever like coffee 'cause I tried some of Daddy's coffee one time and burned my tongue. It was really bitter," he said, grimacing.

"That's why you use Splenda."

But it wasn't Emily who spoke.

Jack's face lit up as he spun around from his position on Emily's lap. "Daddy!"

Illogical fear and strange excitement filled Emily's veins as Hotch sought her gaze and held it for a long, tender minute. "Aaron," she gasped. She cursed the breathless quality of her voice; even after all these years, and countless conflicting emotions, his sheer voice could still leave her tingling. Hotch stared back at her, and for a second, she swore she could see smile lines hinting at the corners of his eyes...but just as quickly as they had appeared, they disappeared as well, and Emily was left with the once again lost shell of her husband.

Former husband, really.

It was then that she noticed it.

"Aaron, _what_ happened to your hand?" Emily's eyes widened and, without thought, her own hand circled his wrist gently to better inspect the damage he had done. Bandages and the makings of a cast crisscrossed his flesh; the skin on his knuckles had been torn, and ghastly-looking bruises were already forming.

Hotch took a minute to revel in the comfort of her touch before answering. "I, uh...broke a couple fingers."

Emily was appalled. "Doing _what_?" she asked incredulously. "What'd you do, punch a wall?" she supplied sarcastically.

His silence was her answer.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Through his fun-filled haze, Jack didn't seem to notice his father's injury, however. "Dad, Dad, Dad! I went even _higher_ on the swings today! I was almost flying," he recounted dreamily. At that, he sprung gleefully to his feet. "Can I show you?"

Hotch was genuinely sad to turn his son down. "Not today, buddy, I'm sorry. It's late...it's time to go home and get into PJs."

"But I don't wanna go home! Unless..." Jack threw his arms around Emily's neck. "Are you coming home with us, Mommy?"

Hotch looked just about ready to invite her as well, but Emily knew she would have to refuse; to go back to that house meant going back to a past she wasn't yet ready to confront. She had struggled along thus far...she would find away to get through it all with no more fear.

But it would take time.

Sighing sadly, Emily gazed lovingly at Jack - and then, briefly, at Hotch. "Not tonight, sweetheart."

"Why not?" he whined petulantly.

"Jack."

_"She's going to come back, Daddy!" _the boy outright screamed. "You told me she won't, but she _will!"_

Emily tried her best to ignore the words Jack had just spoken. It was all so confusing; did he or did he not want her back at home? And did she, herself?

"I promise you I will come see you as soon as possible. And then, we can have another fun day, just like today. Is that okay with you?" Emily asked softly.

"No!" he screeched. "No, no, no!"

"Jack Hotchner, that is _enough_." Hotch took his son by the hand. "You've made a big enough scene for the night. We're going home."

Jack was no less upset or bitter as Hotch made to grab him off; but at that moment, there was really nothing else he could do but shuffle alongside unwillingly. That is, until his one last hopeful idea came to mind.

"Wait!" Yanking his small arm out of Hotch's protective grasp, and sprinting over to where Emily still stood, Jack appealed to her with wide brown eyes. "I have a Little League game next week. Do you..." he sniffled, "do you think you can come?"

Sweetly, Emily's expression softened at Jack's almost shy entreaty. "Of course I can, baby. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"But...what if you're busy?" Already, despite not having heard her answer yet, renewed hope filled Jack's hurting heart.

"If I'm busy, then I'll find a way - _any_ way - to clear up my schedule." She pressed a kiss to Jack's forehead. "I'll be there, Jack...that is, if it's okay with your father."

Two pairs of dark eyes settled on the handsome man poised behind the park bench. "I..." _Go on, Hotchner. This is your wife in front of you - just because the papers are clearing the court tomorrow means nothing. _Hotch apologetically ran a hand through Jack's hair, clearing his throat all the while. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Emily couldn't believe her ears. "Well, I -"

But he silenced her with a wave of his hand. This time, the smile she saw in his eyes was real. "We'll see you Saturday, Emily."

* * *

><strong>Author's Note: Thoughts? I'd love to hear what you think so far. No account needed!<strong>


	12. Libera Me

**Author's Note: All I can really say is that I apologize for the delay in posting. The hotel I was in at NYC had the most awful wifi...but, well, I'm confident the content in this chapter will make up for the wait. Some hope is what we all need, right? As always, thank you for reading!**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One! **

* * *

><p>Saturday found Emily doubled over fitfully, however, her body wracking with relentless and violent coughs – so violent that, when her lungs offered her a brief reprieve, Emily's chest physically ached with the pressure that had been applied there by some sick force of nature. Logically, she knew that the sudden onset of coughing was no one's fault but hers; <em>That's what you get for not wearing a coat in the middle of December<em>, the voice of her conscience reminded.

Her body screamed out for her to lay herself to rest, for her to burrow beneath the many blankets on her bed and be warm, and comfortable, and at peace. But stubbornly, Emily disobeyed her body's commands – for one very good reason.

_Jack_.

His Little League game was that very same afternoon, and Emily was already running late. As the light turned from red to green, she pressed down on the gas, knowing she was less than a mile away from the field. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but feel as if she had failed the young boy in some way; if not for making it to the game on time, then for leaving him at home alone with his father, when she knew more than anyone that he needed a mother so desperately. It was something she tried not to dwell on for too long, the guilt.

If only the young boy understood just how much she cared for him! And if only Hotch understood that as well. The two Hotchner boys meant even _more_ than the world to her; they were her life, her loves, her source of strength and sanity. Disconnecting from them, even if it had only been for two weeks so far – two long, restless weeks –, had been the most frightening experience of her life. Nothing could compare to the barren feeling sinking deep into the bottom of her heart. Her heart was nothing but a shell now.

The worst thing was, Emily didn't know whom to blame.

Stifling yet another round of coughs, she struggled to keep the steering wheel straight as she pulled into the parking lot, her body jerking uncontrollably. An allergy or cold or…_whatever_ was plaguing her was the last thing she needed right now. It had effectively consumed the rest of her energy – yet it was the last thing on her mind when Emily came to sit on an empty row of bleachers, beneath the cold winter sun.

Slowly, a soft smile curved her lips as she watched Jack, toddling at the edge of first, ready to run at the drop of a hat. The more and more Emily observed him, the more she mourned the fact that she and Hotch would never be able to see Michael in the very same fashion. But, even if she didn't want to admit it, Emily knew she was learning to cope with his tragic loss. Her heart still clenched and plunged to her stomach when she thought of his empty crib in his empty nursery in Hotch's empty house – _their_ old house.

But, as she thought of these little things, she remembered the expression of newborn enthrallment on Michael's sweet face when Jack had strategically arranged all the stuffed animals in his room to his fancy. She remembered the good things, like his gummy smile, how small and soft his ten fingers and ten toes had been, how adorable his pudgy stomach had been.

Everything _had been_; nothing _was now._

It was a devastating thought, but so was the one that popped into Emily's head next. It had been chased away momentarily by an outburst of cheering from the audience of parents and friends who had gathered to watch the teams play. Energetic as ever, Jack dashed to second and made it to the base just in time to hear the referee shout _S__afe!_ He grinned happily, and so did Emily…until she felt, rather than heard or saw, a familiar figure come to sit beside her.

"Hey." Hotch came so close to resting his hand on the small of her back, before he remembered that things were no longer the same between them. His fingers curled into a weak fist, then dropped to the cold metal of the bleacher they were now sharing. "You looked...lonely." He sighed, knowing that was not what he had wanted to say, not in the least. "Jack'll be happy to see you."

"I'm happy to see him, too. He's getting better and better each game," she praised, trying to ignore just how close they were sitting. The two statements they had spoken thus far constituted their longest cordial conversation since the divorce...and it brought to mind the one thought that had been haunting Emily's conscience for the past several days.

They needed to talk.

It wasn't something she normally did well, confrontation. And it was the same with Hotch. But that stopped neither of them from speaking aloud to fill the awkward silence they had brought about.

"Listen, we need to –"

"Look, Aaron –"

They froze.

Emily downcast her gaze, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She didn't need to look up to know that a similar expression hinted at Hotch's as well.

Some things, lovers just knew.

"Sorry," she whispered, though she didn't say for what; it could have been for anything, or everything. Most likely the latter. "Go ahead."

But Hotch had been raised better than that; he was a Southern gentleman to the T. "No, Emily, you first," he said, trying for kindness – the first olive branch of many, he hoped.

Emily leveled an exasperated glance his way, but he was experienced enough in reading her like an open book that he realized her exasperation was playful. _Why couldn't it have always been like this?_ he asked himself. _Her playfulness, her tiny smiles, her love…it's so natural. _

"Just tell me what you were going to say," she said softly, though loud enough to be heard over the crowd of parents. If she and Hotch had been any more arrogant – which was quite possibly impossible – their back and forth at the moment could have progressed into yet another argument.

Hotch didn't want that, however. So, finally, he complied and, with a sigh, spoke to her in the same soft tone she had used for him. "Emily, we…we need to talk."

_I know_, she should have said. But instead, words she hadn't realized had been creeping to the front of her subconscious tumbled recklessly from her lips. "Why is that…I all of a sudden have the worst feeling of déjà vu?"

Hotch stiffened beside her. Turning back to the game for but a second to clap at the plays that had been made, he was about to say something consoling in return to Emily when, all of a sudden, dreadful sounding coughs sent her doubling over. This time, his hand really did fall to the small of her back. "Are you okay?" he asked when the assault seemed to never cease.

Emily managed to nod briskly, before facing away from him further and coughing even more. "M'fine," she rasped, then cleared her throat. "I'm fine," she repeated.

Hotch wasn't convinced. "I heard someone coughing earlier, before I came and sat here…I didn't realize that someone was you. That sounds awful."

"I'll be okay," Emily insisted. _God, doesn't he see? There are more pressing matters at hand! _"What were you saying?"

"I was…I was going to say, this doesn't have to be déjà vu if we don't want it to be," he released slowly, testing the words and gauging her expression each time.

"I don't want it to be," she echoed. Her throat hurt like hell, her head suddenly began to hurt, and her breathing was uneven, but Emily didn't spend a second worrying about herself. She knew they were hardly in an appropriate place to be having this conversation. But if she was right about herself and right about the man she had spent years getting to know and love everything about, Emily knew that they couldn't possibly stand to wait another hour, let alone another day or week.

Her ponderings were confirmed by Hotch's next words.

"Neither do I."

"So," Emily bit her lip nervously then soothed it with her tongue, the action so familiar to Hotch that it set his heart beating just the slightest bit quicker, "where does that put us?"

"Well, legally, you and I are…" _Divorced. Separated. _

"I didn't mean_…_legally," Emily inserted. "I know the papers have already gone through. But that's…" Her voice trailed away insecurely as her last vestiges of hope and faith took over at last. "But papers can be indicative of nothing. It's subjective."

"As are a lot of things."

Something about his tone of voice didn't settle quite right with Emily. "What do you mean?"

But before Hotch could answer, the affectionate roaring of the crowd around them grew louder and louder and louder until both he and Emily were forced to look back at the field, just in time to see Jack – and the young boy behind him at second – run to home plate, where they were greeted by their proudly cheering coach.

It was a good long minute before Hotch realized that Emily was coughing again. Slowly but surely, his concern began to grow. "Seriously, are you _sure_ you're okay? I think you should go see a doctor."

"It's just…a cold," Emily gasped out between heaving intakes of breath. "Nothing more than a cold."

"Emily, you know you've always been stubborn when it comes to your health. This isn't _just_ a cold –"

"Oh, _I'm_ the stubborn one?" Emily coughed some more into the crook of her arm, then sighed, her face flushed from a reason completely other than lack of oxygen. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. I just –"

_"Emily. Your sleeve."_

That was when Emily saw the blood.

_~.~.~_

"You could have pneumonia, Emily."

The depleted brunette flung open the car door as they pulled into their old house's driveway. Hotch had insisted on taking his car and driving her to a clinic; she had coughed up blood not just once, but three times, for Pete's sake! She needed as much rest as she could get, yet she still wouldn't give herself a break.

_Damn it, woman._

"I know, Aaron," Emily finally answered. "I heard the doctor, too. I have ears just like you, you know." She dropped the sarcasm as Jack ambled up beside her, however. In its place, she shot him the brightest smile she could muster – which, in comparison to her other smiles, was not that bright at all. "Congratulations again, Jack Jack. You were _incredible_ out there. I bet you could play better than a professional baseball player," she said, her heart warming as he giggled.

"I don't think so, but thanks," he said, basking in the glory his parents were readily showering him in. "Are you feeling better, Mommy?"

"Only a little," Emily lied smoothly, hoping to ease his little heart of any worry he might have. He deserved a chance to celebrate his victory, not to have his spotlight stolen by his former stepmother.

It was such a crude title: _former stepmother._ Emily took little solace in the fact that Jack still saw her – and always had seen her – as his second mother, and nothing less. He respected and loved her in every definition of the word, and it made Emily that much happier to be alive.

She _was_ happy to be alive, wasn't she? Remembering Emily's cry one night of, _"Why Michael? Why not me?",_ Hotch couldn't tell. While Emily had never been easy for the general public to read, Hotch knew her better than most; he knew her inside and out, backwards and forwards, and it was something he took the utmost pride in. Yet, as he watched her tiredly shuffle to the front door, Hotch was once again confounded by the mysteries that never seemed to disappear from her midst. It was these enigmas that he was thinking of when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emily trip over her feet…

…and nearly fall to the floor. Her only saving grace had been one of the two pillars that bordered their door, but the sheer shadow of the action had Hotch at her side in a heartbeat, holding her up. Try as she might to deny it, he knew she needed his support; and to be honest, he had always needed hers.

_"Are you okay?"_ had been asked one too many times that day, so Hotch took it upon himself to read the situation for what it was. Emily could hardly stand or walk without his arm around her waist holding her up. He knew he would get his fair share of flack for his next move, but he couldn't help it.

Not giving himself the chance to contemplate his actions, Hotch lifted Emily into his arms. It drove home the déjà vu Emily had spoken of earlier; he distinctly remembered carrying her across the length of the sidewalk bordering their house, across the threshold, only to have her insist to be put down – and then, the yelling had begun.

And all hell had broken loose.

But it wouldn't be that way this time, a fact that was made clear when Emily murmured half-heartedly in protest _but_ wrapped her arms around his neck for added support as well.

It made him smile just that much more.

"You don't have to carry me, you know," Emily chided, her voice muffled by his thick sweater. "I can walk perfectly fine."

"No, you can't, and you know it," Hotch said, locking his gaze onto hers. Her eyes were as beautifully dark as ever; he had more than once fallen irrevocably into the two midnight-colored pools, and he knew he could do so again, if only she would let him. "Besides, we're almost to the bedroom."

"Bedroom?" Her insides tingled, but Emily pushed those no-good emotions far away. "Aaron, what –"

"You are getting some sleep whether you like it or not. Doctor's orders," he said seriously.

Surprisingly, Emily didn't object. She did, however, have one last request as he laid her on top of the breathtakingly and comfortably familiar blankets.

"Can you stay here, for just a minute? We could…finish our talk," she offered almost shyly. "Or…"

But Hotch didn't let her finish. Sitting beside her resting frame, the bed dipping slightly beneath his weight, he spoke to her back; for she had turned away and hidden her face from him as she made her gentle entreaty. "I can stay. But please…close your eyes and try to sleep."

Emily's dark hair shrouded what little of her features Hotch had been able to make out. "But –"

"No buts." His tone was light, his eyes black. It took him a minute to see that Emily was trembling – out of what, he did not know. She was not crying, she was not cold, she was not scared. But despite the unquantifiability of her body tremors – and the series of coughs that followed soon afterward – Hotch was unable to help himself from indulging in something he had done with Emily every night they had lain together. Emily's hands were clasped angelically beside her face, yet…somehow, her position seemed so empty. So…lost. Ever so slowly, his hand crept around her waist and came up to circle one of her slender wrists, smoothing the pads of his fingers along the soft skin he found there. The action was so tender that, for a second, Emily forgot how to breathe. But then, her throat tightening, she moved her arm downward just enough for their hands to meet.

Their fingers intertwined.

And then, she heard it.

_"I'm sorry, Emily."_

His voice was but a whisper, and maybe, just maybe, he hadn't intended to say the words aloud. He hadn't expected her to be so tuned in to his every breath, his every heartbeat, his every undisclosed passion. But she was, just as she always had been. The words, however simple, struck a chord in her heart, though she knew, even with apologies, they weren't ready to move on. It was an awful feeling, being stuck in emotional limbo…but they would have to suffer through it.

Her eyes closed now, Emily struggled to stifle the sob she could tell was yearning to break free. She couldn't help but ask: "Sorry? For what, Aaron?"

"For what I'm about to do next."

And then, as if in a dream, Hotch turned her so that she was facing him, and slowly brought his lips to hers. The kiss was over in no more than two seconds, not giving Emily enough time to even respond to the magical feel of the embrace, but it was all Hotch had wanted at the time – it was all he could take for the moment. They would have to finish their talk eventually, and neither of them knew how things would end, but one thing was obvious; the situation ran much deeper than it appeared on the surface. It was so much more than just lost love; _so much more._

Pulling away, Emily looked at Hotch, utterly shocked – yet oddly placated. Her voice caught in her throat as she spoke his name in question, but once again, she got no answer from him; only a _"Just sleep",_ a longing expression, and a squeeze of her hand.

Emily was drifting away when she felt Hotch get up off the bed, his welcoming cologne slowly fading into the air around them as he strode further and further away from her. His hand was on the doorknob to their bedroom when she found the courage to speak once more.

"Wait, Aaron."

Slowly, he faced her and sought her gaze. "Yes?"

"Can you…" _Stay here, with me. Lay back down beside me. Hold me and keep me safe and never let me go. Take me back into your life…please. _

Despite all the things she wanted so badly to communicate, Emily's voice trailed pathetically away.

"Can I what?" he asked, as curious as ever.

Emily struggled to give him at least a half-smile. "Nothing. Never mind." They gazed at each other for a minute longer…then Hotch swung open the door, and exited the room, leaving Emily to herself.

They would have to finish their talk, yes. But tomorrow would be another day.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Please take a minute to let me know what you think so far. I would be so grateful! No account needed!<strong>


	13. Scapegoat

**Author's Note: Here it is, finally; the beginning of Hotch and Emily's much-needed 'talk'. Whether or not their arrogance will get in the way of any progress they might want, however, is yet to be seen (or read, rather). As always, thank you all so much for reading! Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One! **

* * *

><p>It was all Emily could think about, the kiss. Even as she frustratedly yelled at Hotch as he struggled to coax her into a seating position to take her medicine, even as she told him, <em>"I don't need your help, Aaron!"<em>, even as he pinned her arms to the headboard to keep her upright and had to literally force her to look him in the eyes…the kiss was the only thing that wouldn't yield under her will and escape her conscience.

For the hundredth time in that many days, Emily struggled to fight back her tears. For the life of her, she couldn't decipher where she and Hotch were, relationship-wise. First, she had yelled about divorce. Then, she had made to apologize, only to have him sign the papers - seemingly willingly. It was an endless back and forth, a cruel game of torn hearts and misconceptions. She pined for him, and he for her, yet neither of the brunette couple knew this about the other. They were oblivious in the least blissfully of ways. And they hated it.

The worst thing was, Emily didn't know if she could handle living life at his side for any longer. Without him, she wasn't happy in the least - but she was free, at least in some twisted sense. Alone in her apartment, she was free to escape in her own thoughts, thoughts of how life might have been if Michael were still with them. The thoughts did nothing but drive her further into the abyss of depression she was already inhabiting, but at the moment, she couldn't care less.

Because, back in her and Hotch's old house, Emily could feel the weight pressing down on her heart once more. Just a room down was Michael's nursery, still untouched from the last day he had laid there, in his crib. He had been safe. Healthy. Alive.

A shiver ran down her spine. She needed something to make her forget, and fast.

Emily found her saving grace in the form of Jack Hotchner, however, as she woke to find him standing at her bedside. A tray of sweet-smelling breakfast food was in his hands, a full-on grin on his gentle face. "G'morning, Mommy!" he practically shouted, plopping down at her feet.

Stretching out like a cat, Emily mustered a smile for the boy, then pulled him into a hug, the breakfast tray balancing precariously on his lap. "Good morning," she said, her voice breaking from disuse.

Jack's eyes widened slightly. "You sound really sick," he said, frowning. "Your voice is all different."

"I know, it's kind of raspy, isn't it?" Emily said in response, a frown of her own marring her red lips. Turning away slightly, she coughed into her sleeve. "The doctors gave me medicine but it'll be a while before it starts to kick in," she explained.

"So, you really are sick?" Jack asked worriedly. Despite the fact that she could have been contagious, he crawled closer to her, resting his head on her shoulder. Emily simply nodded in response. "Does that mean you can't give me a good morning kiss?" Emily was shocked by how broken-hearted the question sounded. _The poor child_, she thought, hating herself a little bit more. The entire time she and Hotch had been decking it out, not once had they thought of how their arguing might be affecting Jack. To have him stuck in the crossfires was quite possibly the worst outcome either of them could think of - yet they did nothing to amend the situation they were in. They did nothing but share a kiss that served only to confuse matters even more.

What kind of parents did that make them?

"Are you kidding me?" Emily finally said. "You're too adorable to not get a good morning kiss, Jack Jack," she crooned. Instead of leaving a kiss on his cheek like she had made a habit of doing every morning, Emily dropped one in his hair instead; it was different, but it satisfied the sweet boy all the same. "I love you so much, you know that."

Once again, he grinned from ear to ear. "I know." Glancing down at his lap, Jack seemed to remember why he had entered the bedroom in the first place. "I got you breakfast, Mommy."

Emily gasped theatrically. "You did?" she exclaimed. "Oh, wow, Jack...that's so nice of you! And it all looks _delicious_," she praised, picking at a cantaloupe slice on one of the plates.

"Daddy made it! He said waffles were your favorite, and that I needed to make sure you eat up because you hadn't been eating lately and he was scared and -" Jack stopped. "Oops. I dunno if he wanted me to tell you that," he admitted sheepishly.

Emily's heart skipped a beat, yet she refused to acknowledge why. _It's all so confusing_, she lamented. "Well, your father's right about one thing; waffles are indeed my favorite breakfast food, so I don't think you'll need to worry about me eating," Emily said, trying for a playful tone. Whether or not she succeeded was subjective.

_As are a lot of things_, she heard Hotch saying in response.

"Speaking of your father..." Emily licked her lips as they tingled in memory of the kiss. _The kiss, the kiss, the kiss. _When would it get out of her head? "Where is he?" she finished, taking a sip of her coffee; black with one sugar, just the way she liked it.

Hotch was making it awfully hard for her to hate him.

"He's on the phone with Aunt Jessie," Jack said innocently. "I think I get to go over to her house today," he said, and Emily couldn't tell whether he was excited or chagrined. She, on the other hand...she was again filled with an incomprehensible nervousness. With Jack out of the house, she and Hotch would be left alone. The would have to _talk_, God forbid.

What would they say? Could _anything_ they say dig them out of the mess they had gotten themselves into? Again, Emily wasn't sure.

"Well, if you do go to Aunt Jessie's house, I'm going to miss you a lot," Emily said on a sigh. "But I bet she has something super fun planned for you and her to do, and I can't wait for you to tell me all about it," she said, smiling genuinely this time as Jack's face lit up like a light.

"I wonder if I can go to the park again! I don't think Aunt Jessie has seen how high I can go on the swings yet!" Jack jumped to his feet then. "Lemme go ask Daddy to ask her, okay?"

Emily laughed to herself; sweet Jack could hardly contain his excitement. "Alright, go ahead and run to Daddy. But hurry back, okay? Don't make me miss you too much."

"I won't, I promise!" And at that, Jack dashed out of the bedroom, leaving Emily alone to contemplate the future and slowly eat her breakfast. _Breakfast in bed...of course, Aaron. Of course you would. I don't know what you want me to think anymore, _she yelled at him in her head. _I don't know what you're feeling or if you want me to feel the same emotions you are. I don't know if you want me to leave or stay. Give me a sign; something not as confusing as a kiss that you apologized for. Please, Aaron, I -_

The bedroom door swung open, and immediately, Emily schooled her expressions back into the happy mode she always saved for the boy who had long since captured her heart. "Wow, Jack, sweetheart, I know I told you to hurry back, but that sure was quick - _oh._"

Her heart plummeted to her stomach as she saw who had really walked through the door.

"Aaron."

He brought his dark gaze up to hers. "Good morning," he said quietly, though not tenderly, as he once had done.

"Good morning," she returned cordially. "Sorry, I thought you were Jack..." Her voice trailed away as he made his way over to the bed. Suddenly, her body grew uncomfortably hot; _damned fever_, she thought lowly. _You'd think I'm an invalid by the way he's looking at me. I don't need his pity. _

"I sent him to his room to gather a couple toys to bring over to Jessica's. She's coming over to pick him up in a couple of minutes...though I'm sure Jack already told you." Hotch couldn't help it; he bit his lip in careful consideration as he continued to gaze at her. "How are you feeling?"

"That depends on what you're asking about," Emily deadpanned. She hated the words the moment they fell from her lips, however; Hotch's resulting glare was too inherently chastising for her to handle. "Either way...same old, same old."

Hotch's frowned seemed to deepen. "Even with the medicine your doctor gave you?"

"Aaron, it's only been a day. Miracles do happen, but not _that _often, and not _that_ quickly." Emily rolled to her side in frustration, then happened to bury her face into the pillow her hair had previously been fanned against. Immediately, her face scrunched into an expression of distaste. "Though, you asked me how I'm feeling...I feel disgusting." She ran a hand through her messed up tresses. "I need a shower," she groaned, swinging her legs off of the bed and sighing as the sheets fell off her body, exposing miles of the skin Hotch had previously been _so_ acquainted with.

"So take a shower," Hotch said simply. Unbidden, a mental image of Emily underneath the steady stream of water, naked, came to mind, and he was forced to shut his eyes; not in revulsion, but in the pain the image brought to his heart. It seemed to mock him of a past that would never be the present again, a past that could never - and would never - be their future. _So much loss, _he lamented in turn. _So much love lost._

Emily padded barefoot into the bathroom, the tile jarringly cold against her bared skin_. So take a_ _shower_, she heard him say, his voice so annoyingly flippant and casual.

Well, if that was the way he wanted to be...then two could play that game.

~.~.~

"So."

_We need to talk._

"So." The house now child-free, Hotch turned his back on Emily and made his way back to the kitchen. He didn't have to look behind him to know that Emily had risen from her seat in the living room to follow him. Pushing away the disconcerting feeling of her eyes on him, Hotch reached up into the liquor cabinet to pull out his new favorite - a 1972 Kentucky Bourbon. Pouring a good half glass, he brought the rich liquid to his lips without another word, not even when he heard Emily's disapproving cluck from somewhere nearby. Slowly, he placed the glass on the counter by her hand; slowly, he turned back to face her.

A single question danced in her eyes.

"I...haven't been drinking as much as I did a couple weeks ago," he finally revealed almost reluctantly, somehow knowing _just_ what her question would be. "I didn't want to recede back into a habit I'd had when I was younger. But I just needed something, you know?" Even though Emily didn't answer, Hotch had the oddest feeling that she knew just what he was talking about.

And she did. "That day, when I came over to..." _To apologize. _"When I came over to gather my belongings, you asked me if I was smoking again." Again, Emily licked her lips. "I was. I am," she corrected. "Not habitually, but I don't think I've ever found anything quite like a good cigarette to take off the edge of a long, trying day." She shook her head idly. "It's relaxing, I guess."

"And it kills your appetite."

Emily arched an eyebrow. "Oh, and about that. Next time, try to be more subtle when you want me to eat more. Jack doesn't need to be your messenger."

Something about the wording of her statement struck a chord within him. "I think I know what _my son_ needs, Emily," Hotch snapped.

"Really? Do you?" The shower had washed everything but the hidden contempt away. "And let me guess: an alcoholic father is somewhere on that list?"

"Shut up," Hotch hissed, his voice thick with venom.

"_Don't _tell me what to do." Emily whispered expletives under her breath. And to think, up until this point, they had been doing so well. They had been...civil. "Why the hell am I even here? I hate this house."

"Then go," Hotch said, still as flippant as before. "Let's see how well you're going to be able to take care of yourself. Let's see if your bronchitis develops into full-fledged pneumonia."

"What are you insinuating, Aaron? That I can't take care of myself? That I have to have a man in my life to be successful?" Her voice rose with every breathless question.

"No, that's not what I m -" He slammed a fist down on the counter. "God damn it," he muttered scathingly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. _Breathe, Hotchner. Breathe._

Emily forced the fire raging within her to go out; for both of their sakes. "Is this how it's going to be?" Emily countered simply, her countenance weaker than it had been before. It was the same with Hotch as he struggled to control himself. "We come together to talk about repairing the damage that has been done, only to argue about some trivial thing every second of every _damn_ day. I don't know about you, but this isn't what I want."

"It's not what I want either," he said a beat later, his voice tiny in the large room. "But it's come to a point where I'm at my boiling point; all the emotions are piled too high for me to handle, _everything_ is piled on too high for me to handle. It doesn't take much to push me over the edge. And apparently it's the same with you."

Emily could have gotten genuinely angry at that assumption, but she managed to force the anger aside. She was aware of just how bipolar they both seemed at the moment; yelling one moment, whispering timidly the next. She chalked it up to long suppressed feelings that had everything and nothing to do with Michael; they had everything and nothing to do with themselves. "Apparently."

"I'm just so sick and tired of this."

"Me, too." She watched from her vantage point in the kitchen as Hotch moved back into the living room. This time, she didn't move to follow him. "Is this it?" she wondered aloud. "Are we 'talking'? Because we need to, whether we like it or not. If not for us...then for Jack."

_"I know, _Emily. You don't have to tell me twice."

"Maybe I do. And maybe that's where we should start." Emily fingered the glass he had left beside her as she spoke. "There's something you need to know, Aaron. I love Jack with all my heart. Whenever I talk about him to you, I'm not trying to undermine the love you have for him as his father. I'm _tired_ of you getting so offended whenever I say something about him. Yes, I'm not his real mother, but you don't have to force that knowledge my way every time you can." Her voice broke and so did her heart. "It's hard enough without knowing that I'll probably never have a child of my own."

Emily hadn't meant to make him feel so guilty, but that was exactly what her words did. Hotch couldn't help it; shielded from her gaze, he allowed his expression to soften. "That's not true," he said gently. "Who says you won't be able to have another child?"

She tried her hardest to ignore the fact that Hotch had said 'you' instead of 'we'. _What did it all mean? Send me a sign, God, please._ "Age says it, Aaron. My body says it. I'm forty-two; that doesn't exactly scream fertile."

"You need to stop being so hard on yourself." A beat passed. "Which is another thing we need to talk about. I hope you know that my intentions were never to make you feel any less a parent for Jack. You're his mother; there's no question about it. We're both tensed beyond reason at the moment, and while that isn't an excuse..._I'm _tired of hearing you blame nearly everything on yourself. Yes, maybe you were the one to bring up divorce, but you said you had wanted to apologize, and instead, I just plowed on forward."

"That doesn't give you the right to blame yourself," Emily pointed out.

"You're doing it again," Hotch simply sighed.

"I'm not."

"Yes, Emily...you are."

Silence lapsed between them, and the silence was no stranger.

Then... "I read something somewhere a long time ago that women express changes in their life through changes in their hairstyle." Finally, he faced her once more. "Does that mean anything?" he asked pointedly, watching as she unconsciously brought up a hand to her newly trimmed locks. _Do I want to know if it means anything?_ he asked himself.

"No. It doesn't. Not for me, anyway," Emily said, taking the first physical step forward. She didn't notice the sigh of relief Hotch released. "I've had enough change in my life to last a lifetime," she said frankly.

An illogical - what wasn't illogical these days? - burst of hope filled his veins at her words. _Normalcy, _he told himself_. They both just wanted normalcy._

And so did Jack.

If they were speaking of olive branches, this was the best he had to offer. "Christmas is in two weeks," Hotch said on a breath, seemingly as a non-sequitur.

But for Emily, it was just that; a non-sequitur. "It is," she said, confused as to what he was getting at.

"I'm sure Jack would love it if you spent it with us," Hotch said. His explanation came out less personal than he had planned; and he could tell it registered in Emily's heart when she downcast her gaze. He had expected her to be a tad bit removed...but what he hadn't expected was for her to entirely decline his failure of an invitation.

_Jack would love it, but what about you? _Emily wanted to scream. "I don't think I can, Aaron," she said sadly. For the life of him, Hotch couldn't decipher whether or not her sadness was forced. "To spend Christmas in this house, without Michael...it's too soon," she said, her voice receding into a dark whisper.

In another life, Hotch would have had more discretion with what he said; but in this life, his patience ran thin, and his mouth ran like a leaky faucet. "Are you sure you're not just using Michael as a scapegoat here?"

Emily froze.

Her expression was cold. "Did you just...?" She shook her head in disbelief. "No..." she hissed, breathing heavily, "no, I'm sure. I know myself; I wouldn't dare use my son as a scapegoat to hide my true feelings. _You_, on the other hand..."

"I would never."

"But you'd use a bottle instead!" Regardless, Hotch rose to his feet and strode over to where she was standing. Emily prepared herself for some catastrophic confrontation, but instead, she was forced to stand rooted to the floor as Hotch poured himself yet another glass of the aged whiskey he loved so dearly. "If you keep down this path, you can say goodbye to even _making it_ to Christmas."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled brusquely, stiffening as Emily's small, slender hand wrapped around his wrist, holding him back.

"One glass is enough, Aaron."

"For you, maybe," he spat. "You may know yourself, Emily, but you sure as hell don't know me."

And at that, he brought the glass to his lips and drank.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Don't worry, this isn't the last of their 'talk'. There's much more of that to come. But anyway, thank you for taking the time to read! Please be sure to tell me what you think! Your feedback is always greatly appreciated. No account needed!<strong>


	14. Don't Say a Word

**Author's Note: Favorite chapter alert. All I can say is that more steps are being taken in the right direction; and all I can remind you is that, sometimes, the best coping mechanism for two hurting souls is intimacy. (The later half of this installment is rated M.) As always, thank you ever so much for reading, and especially for sticking with this story through its never-ending roller-coaster ride of emotions. This one's for y'all. ****Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

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><p>No matter how much he drank, however, Hotch found that it was apparent he didn't know <em>himself<em>, either. The accusatory words he had flung at Emily still rang in his ears, and he longed to apologize - but he couldn't, not when a certain rich liquid kept him in bed, alone with only his thoughts as companions. The Bourbon _had_ made him forget, at least for a little while - for which he was grateful.

But one day, the liquor - no matter how much of it Hotch consumed - was just not enough anymore. He didn't realize this for a while; no, not until a particular nightmare invaded his sleep one night.

~.~.~

_It was dark. Not just because of the nighttime sky, but because of other haunting ideas as well. For the life of him, Hotch couldn't make out where he was...until he saw it. A single scrap of paper lay folded on his otherwise spotless desk. He saw himself walking across the bullpen and into his office, toward the desk, where he lifted the startlingly heavy parchment into his hands and opened it. Familiar handwriting reached his gaze, but the words she had written were anything but commonplace._

_It was an address. Pennsylvania Avenue, as far away from the highway as could possibly be. It was a forty-six minute drive, an obscure fact that registered in Hotch's mind when he saw something other than the address written in Emily's telltale scrawl. This time, the writing was smaller, almost as if she was trying to hide something from him._

_It wouldn't be the first time she did just that, he thought wryly. _

_He shook his head to clear it of any confusion and harbored emotions. On the piece of paper, below the address, was a time. Seven o'clock, sharp. And underneath that..._

_...Underneath that, she had written a single, jolting word. _

_"Goodbye."_

_Almost instantly, Hotch sprung to his feet. It all made sense, yet he wished that it didn't. Because, without a doubt, he knew what she was planning on doing. The address on Pennsylvania Avenue was one they had passed by one too many times; it was a construction site, for God's sake! In his mind's eye, he saw Emily peering out the window of their car, staring at the high metal beams that crisscrossed the building frames. What was going through her mind and heart, no one knew._

_But Hotch could wager a guess._

_Forty-six minutes later, Hotch had the sinking feeling he was right. The construction site was eerily quiet, the only sound a billowing of fabric in the wind that Hotch just couldn't place, no matter how hard he tried. In the back of his mind, he knew he was stuck in a nightmare - but it didn't feel like one, no, not when he sprinted from one corner of the site to another, screaming out her name, begging whatever gods above to let him find her alive._

_The gods listened. When Hotch finally had the inkling to peer at the beams above him, he not only found Emily alive, but he realized where the billowing had come from as well. She was wearing a dress, a white one...her wedding dress, he noticed with unadulterated fear. The crystals that adorned the neckline of her dress shone in the moonlight, and served only to enhance the already strangely ethereal mood around them. Her hair cascaded down her back and danced bewitchedly in the wind, but Hotch didn't allow himself to dwell on her dark beauty for any longer; not when he knew just what she had in plan._

_"Get down from there, Emily!" he yelled, his voice hoarse. "I know what you're thinking, and it's not worth it!"_

_Her tears fell from her cheeks and disappeared in the harsh winds. "I just want it to end, Aaron," she weeped. "For once, let me be happy and let me do what I want. You only think you can read my mind; yet even I don't know what to think anymore. I don't_ want_ to think anymore. I can't think, I can't feel, I can't...I can't live without him."_

_"Yes, you can! You're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, Emily. Don't do this; don't you dare do this."_

_"Why?" Emily hiccuped. "Why do you care so much? You've gone and let go; I'm no one to you anymore."_

_"That's not true!"_

_"Why, Aaron?" she screamed. The metal creaked beneath her heeled feet. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't step off this ledge right now. If there is a heaven - and really, I'm sure there is, because where else would an angel like Michael go? - then I'd get to see him after today. Why should I wait any longer?" She had one specific answer in mind; only one answer would bring her down from the building top in one piece._

_Yet, Hotch refused to speak the answer she so desperately needed to hear. "Because of Jack!" he said instead. "What would I tell him, Emily? Think of how much he loves you; think of how much you love him! You don't want to do this!"_

_Her body shook precariously with strangled sobs. "You don't get it, do you? The one person I care about most in this world is you. I _love_ you, Aaron. But you're too blind to see it, and too careless to say you feel the same way. Or maybe you don't," she whispered to herself. "Jack's not enough to keep me here," she said with bruising finality. _"You_ were...but sadly, you're not anymore." She hung her head in despair, resigned to her grim fate. "Goodbye, Aaron."_

_"No, Emily! Damn it, I love you, too -"_

_But it was too late. _

_A flash of white fell from a distance some stories above his head. _

~.~.~

Hotch woke to the realization that he was crying. It wasn't the composure-shattering nature of the nightmare that had brought him to tears, but rather, the thought of truly living life without the one person who knew him both inside and out - yet still could love him, even with all of his faults. For once, with Emily, he hadn't been forced to be someone that he wasn't. It was the most thrilling, freeing feeling in all of the universe.

And he had never thanked her for that.

Still drunk, he rolled out of bed and stumbled to his feet, roaming around the house aimlessly until a pair of car keys had made it into his hands. Emily had long since left the house once more; it had proven too much for her to handle, and while she had still been sick at the time she had left, she was certain she would be at perfect health soon enough. He had said nothing...he had only watched her turn her back on him and Jack, and leave once more.

If he was absolutely still and listened well enough, he could hear remnants of Jack's crying still reverberating throughout the empty house. Empty, because Emily wasn't there. Empty, because Jack was with Jessica - and seemed to not want to leave. Empty, because Hotch wasn't mentally there himself.

Hotch didn't know how he had gotten there, but before he could register his actions, he had pulled out of the garage and was driving to Emily's apartment. Deep down inside, he knew he would regret his compulsiveness sometime in the near future, but in the present, he couldn't have cared less. Because now he knew: it wasn't alcohol he needed to diminish the pain.

It was Emily; it had always been Emily.

Within minutes, he was at her door. It was as if he had absolutely no control over his actions; his knuckles rapped desperately at the slab of wood separating him from her. His breathing was heavy, his eyes were glazed over and wide, his head was throbbing - but none of it mattered, not when he heard an indescribable clamor and a flurry of locks being undone.

And then, there Emily was, standing before him.

Her mouth fell open in shock as she took in his frazzled appearance. "Aaron, what are you -"

_"Don't speak__,"_ he rasped. And then, his lips crashed onto hers, swallowing the gasp that was torn from the back of her throat. Within a heartbeat, he had scooped her up into his arms and kicked the door closed, striding determinately to her makeshift bedroom.

Emily wasn't resting idle, however. Just as Hotch had felt it, she had felt it too; ever since they had begun their periodical fighting, the tension - both sexual and otherwise - had ratcheted higher and higher. It was only natural that one day, the tension would cause an explosion of sorts.

And that day was today.

The feeling of his lips on hers was too good to deny, too godly to ignore. Eagerly, she kissed him back with all her might, though, for the life of her, she couldn't decode what his motives for seeking her out might have been. But she didn't _care_, because his trembling fingers were lifting her blouse over her head, and flirting at the waistband of her grey yoga pants, and -

She stilled his hand.

"What are we doing?" Emily asked breathlessly as he placed her on the bed with almost reverent grace. "You can't keep disarming me like this," she practically sobbed. "First the kiss, a week ago, the strategically placed, casual touches...and now this." It was hard enough, trying to cope without him; but just when she had the tiniest inkling that maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to succeed in erecting the first of hopefully many defenses, Hotch brought them down with a single familiar touch. She cupped his face in her hands. "What am I supposed to think?"

But he shook his head. "Don't think," he begged. "Just _feel_. Please, Emily...I need this, just for one night." _Not just one night, every night for the rest of infinity. You and me forever, like we swore to one another at the altar. Please. _"We need this."

"Aaron, I really do not think I can -"

"Tell me you don't miss this." Without any more fanfare, he bent his head and gently took a rucked nipple between his teeth. Emily's head fell back against the pillows, a silent scream caught indefinitely in the back of her throat, the bottom of her heart.

_"Jesus,"_ she moaned, fisting her hands in the cool cotton sheets.

"Tell me, Emily," Hotch insisted. He tugged and pulled and bit and soothed her supple pink flesh. "I want to hear you say it, whatever 'it' may be."

_A pregnant pause_.

It was Emily's turn to shake her head, though she had entirely different reasons for doing so than he'd had. She glanced at his handsome, anxious face, then downcast her gaze towards the twisted position their bodies were in. "I don't miss this," she gasped out poignantly. "I just miss _you_."

Just like that, the rest of their clothes fell in a pool to the floor. With a patience and control that surprised Emily, especially after his previous franticness, Hotch deliberately laid a kiss to every single inch of skin bared to his gaze. He played her skin like a maestro with his magical fingers, proving to be just what she needed to forgive and forget. If she were honest with herself, she knew that solving problems through intimacy in the most carnal way wasn't the smartest thing to do - but Hotch had been right; they needed this.

Hotch actually managed a small smile as her chest heaved uncontrollably at his ministrations, giving him better access to the twin rosy peaks he adored so much. He knew from past experience that there really wasn't anything he could to do Emily's breasts that wouldn't get her aroused. Not that she needed any help getting aroused; from the moment he had covered her body with his and swallowed her protests with his skilled mouth, she had been putty in his hands. And she always had been.

But the fact of the matter was that it had both been eons too long for both of them. She knew why they were doing this; they needed something so inherently familiar to hide in, a place to indulge and throw all cares away. She remembered Hotch circling a specific date on their calendar in bright red, a date long enough after Michael's birth, a date when they would be able to love each other in this way again. They had even been counting down, back when they had been happy.

That date was long past. Emily was ready, more than ready. She craved Hotch with every part of her soul, and prayed to the heavens above that he felt the same way.

He did, and he set out to prove it. Their foreplay had lasted long enough, he figured; while he knew Emily's body could take more, so much more, he didn't want to push. He, too, was tired of waiting, but he had the sense to take Emily's reservations into consideration.

No more foreplay; he was ready.

A single heartbeat later, and the only sound in the room was an impassioned gasp that had fallen from scarlet lips. She could feel him, pressed up against the inside of her thigh, now pressed up against her core, now pressing forward -

They both groaned as Hotch delivered that final push, the push that caused himself to be buried to his hilt in her tight, searing heat. She could taste the alcohol on his tongue as she met his lips with hers once more, but instead of pulling back in genuine concern for him, she plowed on through, the smell of whiskey floating about in the musky room and only adding to the seductive mood. He moved within her so perfectly slowly, just the way she had always liked it; it was familiar, yes, but it was also _so_ unspeakably different. She was tighter than she had ever been, and his generous girth did cause a slight tinge of pain - though she would never tell him that she liked it.

But Hotch, being the gentleman he was, strove to make it better. Because, like Emily had postulated, he _did_ have an ulterior motive. He wanted so desperately to make Emily want him again. With every piston of his hips and every kiss to her breasts, he hoped she would get it into her head; _I still love you! No one can make you feel this way but me, and you know it_, he wanted to scream. He wanted to hold her close and never ever let her go. Instead, they would lie beneath the sheets together forever, in the solace and deep peace of two combined hearts.

It seemed as if his wish were coming true when Emily's arms snaked around his neck and pulled him down to her. Her long, beautiful legs wrapped snugly around Hotch's waist, unintentionally changing the angle of his thrusts. A moan rattled about in the back of her throat, and she clutched at him desperately, panting heavily as she realized just how deeply bound together they were. She had missed that union so much; she missed their marriage, their love, their love-making. Everything about him drove her crazy in the best of ways, and she knew the feeling was mutual. It was how they had survived in the field, then later, in a relationship. They had always worked well together, and the constant rhythmic thrusting of Hotch's cock into her svelte body proved just that. He was picking up pace, slowly but surely, touching all the right places, sucking at the base of her neck and murmuring husky statements into her ear.

_I love you, _Emily could've sworn she heard him say. But she made no assumptions, merely held to him tighter, brought him in deeper, and kissed him harder.

"You feel so good," Hotch groaned in ecstasy. "So good, like a velvet glove holding onto me for dear life." He sucked and nibbled on her lower lip, taking pleasure from her resulting keening moan. "And God, you're so beautiful..."

"I thought you said 'don't speak'," she reminded; and for the first time in God knows how long, a teasing lilt colored her voice. Hotch's breathing became shallow as he gazed at her, unable to look anywhere else but into her glassy eyes. Her head was thrown back, her hair cascading down her shoulders to caress her breasts, her nipples beckoning. For him. She was breathing fast, a flush of arousal coloring her cheeks and neck.

Emily was an outright goddess, and she was his. The paperwork that declared their marriage null meant nothing to him anymore; all he cared about was the slick drive of his cock into her core, the way she clenched her muscles around him purely for exquisite torture, the way she laved the shell of his ear and told him how good he was making her feel. If he closed his eyes for just a minute, he was allowed to feel like they were back to the good ol' days. He could see them in their king sized bed on any normal day, making love while holding hands...

It was then that Hotch noticed it. His pleasant reverie still at the front of his mind, he had reached for Emily's hand and laced their fingers together, when he felt a familiar cool metal against the side of his finger.

His heart actually stopped.

"You're wearing your ring," Hotch choked out.

"I am," Emily said softly. "I never take it off, not for anything." She danced a finger over his hand. "And neither do you, apparently."

"Why would I, when it means so much to me?"

For a long, lonely, _lovely_ minute, their unflinching gazes met. They just stared at each other, seeing, for the first time, just how blind they had been before. _How could we have given this up?_ they wondered in synchrony. Neither got their answer, however; because the emotions were just too much to hold back for much longer. They were exploding; Emily cried out as his pace increased dramatically and he hit that perfect spot over and over and -

_"Oh, God. Aaron. _I...I..."

"Come for me, beautiful," he coaxed, his voice like velvet as he felt the familiar contraction of her muscles around him. Her back was bowed, her toes curled, her lips parted - but in the midst of it all, she managed a nod. "That's it…you're so close," Hotch encouraged. "Come on, babe..."

The endearment was what sent her over the edge.

With an ear-splitting, unintelligible scream of the purest euphoria, Emily slammed her head back against the pillows, the sensations simply too much for her to take. Of its own volition, her hand came down hard against the empty space of mattress beside her, and she was certain that her nails had ripped holes through the sheets. Never before had a man made her feel this way; so utterly complete, so worthy of affection.

And to think, she had turned his back on him, and he on her.

But Hotch was not done. The muscles all throughout his body corded with tension as he fast approached that coveted peak. Emily's walls gripped his cock like a vice, and suddenly, his thrusting became unhinged, unrestrained. Stars had already began invading his vision when he gave Emily one last kiss and gasped her name against her lips. _So close, _he chanted internally. _Come on, come on, come on -_

And then, finally, with the tiniest bit of assistance from Emily's slender fingers and skilled hands, he was _there_, flung headfirst over the edge and into the paradise he had yearned for for much too long. He groaned, long and loud, his teeth nipping at the tender hollow where her neck and shoulder met. _"Emily," _he actually roared. _"Yes - yes!" _He was still buried in her shaking body when Emily resurfaced after finding her own blissful release; and he refused to let her go until their tremors finally eased for good, until he was finished jetting his essence deep inside her willing, beautiful body.

~.~.~

Within minutes, they were spooning. Despite the sheen of sweat and musk that covered both their bodies, Hotch made sure to keep an arm wrapped securely around Emily's waist and hold her to him as tightly as possible. It had taken a nightmare about suicide to spur on their night's confrontation, but at the moment, the nightmare was as far from his mind as could be. Instead, he rested his face in her sweet-smelling, newly cut hair, his fingers coming up to toy with the fresh ends.

"I don't know if I've told you this yet, but I love your new hairstyle," he whispered, his voice low in the confines of the bedroom. Slowly, he kissed the exposed skin of her neck.

A lazy, lethargic smile touched Emily's lips. "Easy access, huh?"

"Something like that."

Once again, silence lapsed between them, but it was more comfortable this time. Just when Hotch was sure Emily had fallen asleep, however, she brought something to his attention, something that snagged his curiosity when her lazy smile morphed into something more shy. Her back to his chest, she buried her face into a pillow that now smelled of spice and male sweat. "There's something I need to tell you," Emily said quietly, though her voice sounded much louder as her heartbeat pounded in her ears. "You brought it up when we last saw each other, and I brushed it off, told you that I'd need some time to think it over." She swallowed thickly. "Well, I gave it some thought. I didn't take me too long to decide..." Her voice trailed away when she felt his fingers tuck an errant tendril of hair behind her hair.

"Decide...what?" he said against her skin.

"I want to spend Christmas with you and Jack," she said confidently. Craning her neck so that she could see at least part of him, Emily downcast her gaze. "That is...if you'll still have me."

Hotch didn't answer immediately; instead, he bent his head to capture her lips in their last kiss of the night. This kiss was unlike all the others, though. It wasn't awkward or too fast, nor was it hard or desperate or aggressive. It was sweet; it was a glimpse into their past and the future they had always imagined they would have together. And then...he smiled. "We'd love to have you over." _I'd love to have you over._

"We'll talk about it more in the morning?" Emily asked hopefully, her heart set on finally righting the wrongs they had done to each other and to themselves. For so long, she had abstained from hope, hating that it was almost always false, but now...now was a new page in a different story.

"We'll talk," he echoed, and just those two words had so many different meanings, all of which constituted a step in the right direction. "Goodnight, Emily," Hotch finally said, letting his eyes fall closed.

Sighing to herself, she nestled further into Hotch's familiar warmth. In the safety of his strong embrace, Emily allowed herself to relax and just breathe for the first time in months.

"Goodnight, Aaron."

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><p><strong>Author's Note: I tried to make it as least angsty as I could without seeming too unrealistic. Hopefully I succeeded, but in either case, I would love to hear what you all have to say about this chapter! Any thoughts or questions are always welcome; after all, your feedback means the world to me. No account needed! And thank you in advance.<strong>


	15. Black Holes and Revelations

**Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the outpouring of feedback for the previous chapter. I cannot even begin to tell you how much it means to me, especially for a story like this, which can be so emotionally trying. Most of all, I thank you all for sticking with me since the beginning - this sweet chapter is just for you. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

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><p>Emily moaned into the musky smelling pillow as she took in the delicious ache of her muscles. There was no denying it; she wouldn't be able to walk for the longest of times, not after the passionate dance they had engaged in the night before.<p>

And it _had_ been passionate.

Stretching out like a pleased cat, Emily buried further beneath the sheets, her eyelids still weighed down by sleep. "Aaron," she murmured huskily, reaching for him blindly. Even after the hours they had spent reacquainting themselves with the other's heart, body, and soul, she _still_ yearned for him. Emily had almost forgotten how complete he made her feel; _almost._

Her eyebrows furrowed together in a mix of confusion and frustration when Hotch didn't answer. Forcing her eyes open, she hissed slightly at the onslaught of sunshine. "Aaron?" Sitting up in the bed finally, she let the cool cotton sheet slip off of her chest. "Aaron…"

But he wasn't in the bedroom.

Emily was rubbing the somnolence from her still tired eyes when she heard it; a commotion somewhere in a neighboring room. It wasn't anything too loud, but it would have been enough to wake up Jack, had he not been with Jessica, several miles away. Straining to hear, Emily recognized heavy breathing, dry sobs, and low, murmured pleas, which sounded startlingly similar to her own morning routine. The knowledge that Hotch had been internalizing his suffering for so long made her feel worse than she had in days; and before she knew it, she had reluctantly pulled on her most comfortable clothes and was slipping out of the bedroom, heading toward the man who needed her, and who she, in turn, needed with every fiber of her being.

Somehow, Emily wasn't surprised when she saw what he was doing. She found him staring out her picture window, watching the sun rise over the DC skyline. It was something she was exceedingly glad of, the fact that she had been able to get the exact same apartment she'd had before...before Michael, before everything. It was familiar and comforting and just what she needed.

And the view was just spectacular.

She hadn't spoken a single word, but she knew that Hotch sensed her presence. Subtly, the tenseness in his shoulder muscles relaxed as she stood in the doorway, watching him. He didn't know how to tell her the things that were running through his head, and frankly, he didn't know if he _wanted_ to tell her. The night they had shared just hours earlier had been more perfect than he could ever have imagined, given the circumstances. And he didn't want to ruin that by unloading his thoughts onto her, especially since she had been coping better lately. _Or so I think_, he told himself.

Unbidden, the words fell from his lips anyway.

"I cannot tell you how many times I have found myself in Michael's nursery, holding onto one of his stuffed toys and staring at our portraits on the wall. We never filled the frame in the very middle...the one that would have been a picture of the four of us, Michael in our hands." His voice was frighteningly weak, yet _so_ loud in the large room. "Emily, it's so _empty_," he lamented.

Emily kept silent, when the only thing she wanted to do was close the distance between them, reach out, and envelop his trembling body in a tight hug. It wasn't often that he gave her such a glimpse into his heart, and now that he was talking...she wasn't about to stop him.

When he received no audible response, nothing but a quiet sniffle, Hotch continued. "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if I hadn't made you go to sleep that night?" His voice shook slightly, then regained its previous characteristic strength. "I...I told you to rest, remember? I told you that I'd make sure Michael fell asleep safe and sound. But _I _fell asleep instead. What if I hadn't, Emily? I -"

A single sob was torn from the back of her throat; and in less than a second, Emily was there, in his arms. It drove her crazy, seeing a man so tight, so controlled, so morally righteous...seeing him crumble enough to reach for a bottle of Bourbon to stifle the piercing cry he heard in his sleep. There was nothing she hated more than seeing him so destroyed. It hit her square in the chest, made it hard to breathe. "Don't do this to yourself," she begged in a whisper, her hands folding against his chest, the connection forcing their gazes to lock. "Don't, Aaron." But her voice wasn't harsh or demanding, or even chastising. It was sweet. Loving. Caring.

Hotch bent forward so that their foreheads rested against one another. His warm breath fanned out against her cheeks. "I know," he whispered right back. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," she said simply, a hint of a smile in her dark, shining eyes. "Remember? We're not blaming ourselves." Though, even as she said the words, a pang of guilt rushed through her veins. _Hypocrite_, the voice of her unconscious taunted. _You're a hypocrite, Emily Elizabeth Prentiss._

"I know," Hotch repeated. Sighing out shakily, he gave into temptation and twined his fingers in her silken hair. "Last night..." He opened his mouth to say more, but no words came out; no words could have been used to describe the emotions he had felt. He looked so conflicted; so willing to do it again, yet so regretful. It tore Emily to pieces, yet she knew, deep down inside, his feelings were the same as hers.

"We shouldn't've had to find solace in each other's bodies," Emily said knowingly, and the brief flash in Hotch's gaze proved her supposition that he had been thinking the same thing. "It was perfect," she breathed out, "but...like that kiss the other day, I'm left only more confused," she admitted. _Talk to me, Aaron_, she was pleading inside. Her heart was screaming for him. But he just couldn't hear. And even now, their lips were so close...just the slightest canting movement would bring them back to that long coveted paradise.

Alas, nothing of the sort happened. In fact, Hotch's next words only froze her heart even more.

"Maybe this was a mistake."

_"No."_ Even though she had picked up on the halfhearted tone with which his statement had been spoken, Emily was vigilant; she wouldn't let either of them slip back down in that abyss this time, not when they had worked so hard to stride on forward. "No, Aaron, what we had last night was not a mistake; it was anything but. It showed me exactly what I've missed, what I've needed for so long." This time, it was her turn to sigh. "But...maybe, what you told me, all those nights ago, was right. Maybe, you and I...we need help." She nestled her head against his warm chest. "I know it's not easy to admit; I'm reluctant myself, that much you know. But I'm _tired_ of running away. I'm tired of hiding behind lies, and arguments, and a cloud of cigarette smoke - and a bottle. I'm tired of being _alone_, Aaron."

"And I'm tired of the nightmares."

Hotch's unsuspecting confession caused Emily to unconsciously hold him to her tighter. "Nightmares?" she echoed. In his silence, she thought of the one she'd had just last night; a cruel dream of rapid-fire images of Hotch, lying spread-eagle on the cold concrete, blood pooling around him after a tragic car accident. Once again, Emily saw herself trapped in the passenger side seat, in pain but very much alive, and unable to do anything but scream as she watched her one true love die alone. His body had been propelled out of the windshield...there were flames from somewhere beneath the car...and the smell of gasoline and blood hung heavy in the air. "I'm tired of the nightmares, too."

"You have no idea," Hotch rasped - though he knew she did.

"So tell me," she practically begged.

"You don't want to know."

"I do."

"_Emily."_ His eyes burned with tears that refused to be shed. His throat hurt with screams he was holding back. His head hurt as the flash of white he had seen fall from high above appeared behind his eyelids. "You really want to know?" he snapped. "Then I'll tell you. I saw you climb the foundation of that new building on Pennsylvania Avenue, the site that is still under construction. You know which one I'm talking about. I saw you standing on one of the beams, and it was windy; so windy, yet you were wearing heels and your wedding dress. I saw you break down and cry. And I saw you step off the ledge - _and I couldn't catch you_. I watched you _die, _Emily. And I couldn't do anything about it." He was holding her so tightly now, crushing her against his chest desperately. "It taught me something in the end, though," he finally whispered, his lips tickling her ear. "It showed me how much I need you in my life. I was foolish when I thought I could go on without you. I...I..."

And then, Emily's mouth was on his, and he couldn't think anymore. All that mattered was the feel of her supple skin against his, the feel of her tongue sweeping across his upper lip, begging him to give in. He couldn't believe how stupid they had been - how stupid _he_ had been. _How could we have given this up?_ he wondered, deepening the kiss and letting her melt against him. He had missed her; she had missed him. They were both still wearing their rings. And they were both willing to talk. It all meant something, didn't it? It had to.

Stars finally popping before her closed eyes, Emily pulled away, her lungs burning with the need for oxygen. "We have to stop hiding," she insisted finally, refusing to be fazed, no matter how good the embrace had felt.

"We do," Hotch affirmed. "And...maybe...maybe we do need help," he said against the flushed skin of her cheek. "A therapist," he supplied. "I know a woman," he said, as if in a hurry. If he were honest with himself, it did feel like they were rushing into things once more, but at least they weren't pulling from each other away this time. They often had the bad habit of listening to their hearts and not their heads; but that was _changing, _they were changing. For the better, too. Hotch continued: "She was my therapist after Foyet, after Haley and Jack left, after Haley died. I'd like to say it helped." He took Emily's hands in his and held them with a passionate fervor not unlike the one they had shared the night before. "It's one of the final steps we need. You agree, don't you?" he asked, his voice unabashedly hopeful.

"Of course. The final step," Emily echoed, without even a second's hesitation. She closed her eyes blissfully as he kissed her once more.

_The final_ step_, _she thought. _We're almost there, Michael. We're almost there._

~.~.~

Contrary to Hotch's advice, however, Emily didn't seek out a therapist first.

Instead, she met up with none other than Jack Hotchner. Together, she and Hotch had commuted over to Jessica's place to pick the young boy up, and finally, the three of them were back at home, _their _home. Everything still felt out of place for Emily, but she had expected nothing less. And when Jack wrapped his arms around her legs and held her as tightly as possible, Emily couldn't bring herself to care about anything else.

Scooping the adorable child up into her arms, Emily plopped him onto the king sized bed and nestled in beside him, smiling into his sandy blonde hair when he snuggled against her. Somewhere in the background, they vaguely noticed the sound of the master bathroom shower being turned on; but all Emily could hear were Jack's quiet, innocent words in her ear.

"Daddy still loves you, you know."

"I know." And she had known it, all this time. Some demon within had tried to convince her the opposite, but she had steadfastly held on. And it had been worth it, even for just one moment with her two favorite boys. _It should be 'three favorite boys', _the voice of her conscience sneered once more. But Emily paid no attention to it, simply running her fingers through the little boy's golden locks. "I know he does."

"And you love him, too! You told me so!" Emily knew what Jack was getting at just by the look of pure excitement on his fine features. "So, move back in!"

"It's not that simple, baby," she said on a sigh.

"But it is!" Jack's tone bordered a whine. "I already know; it's a grown-up thing. But _I_ miss you." His bottom lip trembled; and even though Emily could tell he was trying his hardest to be a big boy, a little sob slipped past. "I miss you, Mommy."

Her heart being torn to pieces by a surge of searing guilt, Emily pulled him closer, ever closer, until he was lying against her chest. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, rocking him back and forth. "Sweetheart, I'm _so_ sorry." It was a time for new beginnings, a time for mending broken hearts and soothing neglected souls. Emily had never felt worse as she gazed at the broken boy nestling in her arms. "There's something I need to tell you," she whispered earnestly. "I love you with _every_ fiber of my being. And if I have ever made you feel worthy of anything less than my full affection, I apologize from the bottom of my heart." She knew it would take more than a single apology to heal the wounds she had inflicted; but they had time, and time would be their friend. She pressed her lips to his now disheveled hair once more. "And your father loves you, too. I know that for a fact. You mean the world to us."

"But what about Michael?" Jack's tone wasn't jealous in the slightest; only curious, childishly inquisitive. "Do you still love him?"

"Yes," Emily said immediately. "And I miss him. So much." Her voice faded further with every word she spoke. She was tired, a fact that hadn't escaped Hotch's attention as he had driven them home. He noticed everything about her, just the same way that she noticed everything about him. One could call it obsessive; they called it love.

"Then..." Again, Jack's sweet voice permeated the quiet room. "If you still love and miss him, doncha think Mikey'd like it if you and Daddy were happy again? Together?" He pleaded to her unabashedly with his widened eyes and downturned lips.

And in one split second, it all made sense.

An indescribable chill ran through Emily's beans at Jack's supposition. Sometimes, it was so easy to forget just how young the boy really was, what with his heart-wrenching pleas and the sheer wiseness of his thoughts. For a moment, Emily wondered how much Jack had heard from Hotch, whether or not he had been _coached_. But those wonderings were gone in an instant.

What had they been doing? They had been right from the start; in order to survive the ordeal they had been thrown headfirst into, they needed one thing and one thing only.

Each other.

Yet they had drawn slowly and surely away. It all seemed so futile now; the arguments, the addictions, the pain, the tears. Their last few months had been nothing short of a fast-paced roller-coaster of emotions, from scared to expectant to blissful and happy to _destroyed to angry to numb to yearning._

Yearning for Michael. Yearning for normalcy. Yearning for happiness and completion and -

"Mommy?"

Emily snapped back to the present. It didn't occur to her that the shower water had stopped running. "You're absolutely right, Jack."

The poor boy's excitement was already uncontainable. "Does that mean you'll -"

"Maybe." She didn't want to give him false hope; he had suffered enough already. "I make no promises, Jack. After all, your daddy and I have _a lot_ of kinks to work out." _Too many_, her heart screamed. But they would suffer through it; they had to.

Jack was persistent, however. "But you do want to stay here, don't you?" As young as he was, Jack wasn't sure he really did want to know her answer; so much depended on what few words she had left to say.

"With you and your father? Yes," Emily answered with utmost honesty. "But not in this house." She glanced at the walls around them, the very same walls she had felt closing in on her that first night after they had come home from the hospital, their hearts and souls mangled. "Either we move, or I have to fall in love with this house again. Which is easier said than done, but..." She rolled to her side, bringing Jack along with her. "You know what I've been trying to realize, Jack?" His curious gaze was her answer. "We've had so many good memories in this house, haven't we? Surely those should be enough to outweigh the bad. It's just so _hard_."

"Daddy tells me the same thing."

"Does he?" This time, it was Emily who hung her head tiredly. "Of course I want to stay with you and your daddy, Jack," she said with finality, kissing the boy's ruddy cheek. "You two are my heart."

_"You two are my heart," _Hotch whispered back; and then, mere paces away, he pushed away the exhaustion that threatened to cripple him, took the deepest of deep breaths, and strode back into the bedroom.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Not really a cliffhanger, but there's still more good stuff to come, I guarantee you that. And I'm anxious to hear what you think! Even if you haven't before, I would love it if you all could review; short or long, signed or anonymous, your reviews are the most priceless motivation and inspiration for me. Thank you in advance!<strong>


	16. Where the Wild Things Are

**Author's Note: Yet another light chapter headed your way! I'll redeem myself eventually, I promise. As always, thank you so much for reading - I sure hope you enjoy!**

**Quotes are from _Where the Wild Things Are,_ by Maurice Sendak. Also, if you want to listen to a song whose lyrics I find strangely and incredibly fitting to this story, check out _Map of the Problematique_, a song from the Muse album _Black Holes and Revelations_.**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

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><p>Emily knew staring - no, <em>ogling <em>- wasn't polite, but as Hotch emerged from the steamy bathroom, bare from the waist up, she couldn't do much else. _Did the infuriating man not have the dignity to put a shirt on? _Emily internally cursed him for what he did to her; it was as if she were caught under a spell as she watched a bead of water make its slow descent down his scarred chest, those scars that she had seen as beautiful for years.

If Hotch took particular notice to her speechless silence, he didn't address it; instead, he grabbed an extra towel from the linen closet, then turned to Jack. "Alright, buddy. It's bedtime." His voice was gentle, affectionate.

Jack's reaction was anything but unpredictable. A tiny whine caught in the back of his throat, he threw his arms around Emily's neck. "But I don't wanna go to sleep!" he protested immediately. What if Mommy wasn't there when he woke up? _"Daddy -"_

With a single kiss to the young boy's forehead, Emily had Jack calmed down in a heartbeat. "Hey, now," she chastised gently. "You're going to need a good night's sleep if you want to have enough energy for our big day tomorrow."

"Big day?" That piqued Jack's attention. "Where're we going? What're we doing?"

Emily smiled indulgently at his renewed enthusiasm. "Oh, I bet we can think of something fun to do." She caught Hotch's gaze. "Right?"

"Something very fun," Hotch said in agreement, his husky baritone rocking Emily to her very core. "Now...run up and get into PJs, buddy."

And like a rocket, Jack was off.

Emily shook her head as she and Hotch trailed behind slowly. "Where he gets his energy..."

Hotch chuckled, his heart swelling as her low-pitched laughter mingled with his. If he closed his eyes well enough, he could almost imagine them at a time when everything was normal - when everything was _perfect_, as it should be. "I've wondered that for six years." They were close enough to Jack's bedroom now; close enough for Jack to hear his father's next words. "Do you want to tuck him in, or do you want me to?"

Emily met his steady gaze, then gave him an elegant shrug. "It's up to you, really."

"I want _both _of you to tuck me in," Jack piped up, reminding them of his presence. He gave them a crooked-toothed grin. "Please?"

Any residual hardness in her features softened immediately at the child's innocent entreaty. "Of course, sweetheart," she said, her voice coming out in a coo. "That sounds like a wonderful idea; don't you think, Aaron?" She didn't know where this constant need to hear Hotch's opinion came from; she chalked it up to the fact that she no longer wanted to take a step in the wrong direction. They were moving forward, and they would _keep_ moving forward if it took all year.

How could he not agree with her, when his name sounded so sweet coming from her red lips? "I would have to agree. Any story preference, Jack, or can me and Mommy decide for you?"

Jack burrowed beneath the blankets, his eyes already beginning to fall shut as Emily raked her fingers through his hair. "Can we finish _Where the Wild Things Are_?"

"We sure can," Hotch said, nodding. _We can do whatever you want, Jack_, he wanted to say. "And how about this; tomorrow, on our fun day, we can rent the movie and watch it together. Do you like that idea?"

"I didn't know there's a movie!" Jack said, his wide eyes shining in the yellow glow coming from his bedside lamp. From his excitement alone, Hotch and Emily gathered that an in-house movie day would be the perfect way to end the weekend.

"I guess that's a yes," Emily said, yet another smile hinting at the corners of her mouth. Reaching across the young boy from the other side of the bed, she shot Hotch a grateful glance as he pressed the small book into her palm. "Do you want me to start, or Daddy?"

"You." Jack yawned into his pillow, squirming as his father laid a stubbly kiss to his ruddy cheek. "And do the voices. I like it when you and Daddy read with voices."

"Your wish is my command, sweetheart."

~.~.~

_"...but Max stepped into his private boat and waved good-bye. And sailed back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day. And into the night of his very own room where he found his supper waiting for him. And it was still hot. The End."_ Even though Emily had known Jack had already drifted off to dreamland, she couldn't _not_ finish reading the book aloud; and Hotch hadn't seemed to mind.

Without another word, Hotch and Emily rose from the bed, careful not the jostle their sleeping child. They tucked him into bed snugly; they tiptoed out of the room and down the hall.

Hotch surprised Emily by resting his hand instinctively on the small of her back. Heat radiated on her skin from where he touched her; unbidden, a shiver ran down her spine. His touch was too good, too dangerous. "Let's go," he murmured, sparing one more glance to the small bedroom at the end of the hall. She complied as he lead her to their favorite couch, a couch by the fireplace on which they had made love more than once.

They both knew what would have to happen next. They had started their talk more than once, but never had they finished it.

And now, they couldn't even begin it. The cozy living room was quiet as their minds ran circles, thinking of a way to make up for the past sins they had committed. In the unsettling silence, Emily let her gaze roam from one corner of the room to the other. There was something that seemed out of place, though she couldn't put her finger on it...

_Oh._

"I thought it looked different in here," she said curiously, turning her body to face him. "The vase that you and I bought from that one yard sale; where'd you put it?"

Hotch bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Just when he had hoped she wouldn't think of it... "I-I have a long story about that, actually," he finally confessed, downcast eyes searching the carpet for loose threads. _No time like the present to explain. _"I..." he sighed defeatedly, "broke it. A while back. It wasn't an accident."

"You...broke it?" Emily wasn't mad, however; just concerned. "How?" There was a long, pregnant pause. "Why?"

"I was angry," Hotch said simply, "and drunk. It was the worst I'd ever been...and the vase was the first thing I could reach." He didn't have to explain any further; Emily could recreate the scene in her mind. "It's shattered," he said pathetically. "I'm sorry."

But Emily just shook her head. "That's not what I'm worried about. The day you broke the vase...was that the same day you met me and Jack at the park? The day that you told me..." She glanced down at his hand, covered in one single bandage now. _"Oh, Aaron."_

"Yes," he answered vaguely. He knew her question without having to hear her complete it; _Wa__s that the same day that you broke your hand punching a hole through the wall?_ His eyes widened imperceptibly as he watched her reach out and wrap her fingers around his wrist. "Emily, what are you -"

Slowly, ever so slowly, Emily massaged his bruised flesh with skillful, gentle fingers. It hurt her to think about a vulnerable Aaron Hotchner; the two were anything but synonymous. Her breathing became heavy as she soothed the skin at the arch of his hand, at the base of his palm. And his knuckles...his poor, poor knuckles.

She looked up to find his face a mere inch from hers. "Why didn't you tell me, Aaron?" she whispered.

"I thought you'd be mad," he admitted, his gaze transfixed to the movement of her fingers. "I...I didn't want to start anything _like that_ between us."

"I'm tired of arguing," Emily said simply.

"So am I." And with a single heavy sigh, Hotch gave into temptation and _finally_ let his last barriers fall down. "Emily...I don't know where to begin," he said sadly. "All I know is that I _miss _you. The house is so empty without you here. It doesn't feel right; you being away at some apartment when this is every bit your home as it is mine. I just want you back; and if that means we have to move into a new house, then so be it."

Emily was floored. For an instant, she wondered briefly if he had heard her hushed conversation with Jack; he had only been a few feet away, after all. An indescribable dread crept beneath her skin at the thought. She wasn't sure if she was ready to remind him just how much she loved him. They had exchanged those three simple words too many times to count, but now...it was different. Everything was different. And everything was confusing.

One thing that stood out from the chaos and uncertainty, however; there was no room for anymore secrets between them. Long ago, as they had exchanged vows at the altar, they had promised to allow each other into the dark recesses of the other's mind when the time called for it, no matter how hard things could and would get. Now was one of those times.

She exhaled quietly, her chest still tight with innumerable emotions. "But now it's like we're right back to square one, back when I first brought that issue up. It's not that easy," she mourned. "And not just that; even if _you_ don't see it this way, I feel so selfish just thinking about the possibility of moving to a new place. Jack's comfortable here, you're comfortable here. I don't want to ruin that."

"Emily -"

"I don't, Aaron."

"I know you don't." _Good Lord, woman._

Emily just shook her head. "What do _you_ want, Aaron?" she asked gently. "Be honest with me, please."

"I already told you, didn't I?" His response came in a voice that was just as soft as hers. "I want you back here, with me and Jack. I want us to be a family again." She shifted slightly, the action causing a hair from her ponytail to tickle the side of his cheek. Hotch swallowed thickly. "I want to take you back to bed," he said honestly, his eyes burning holes into hers as she gazed back at him with a dark curiosity. "And...if we're being honest...I want to have Michael back. But that much is obvious."

"We haven't talked about him in a while," Emily said, her voice almost inaudible now as she tried getting rid of the thoughts his words had brought to mind; _I want to take you back to bed. _"In fact, it seems like we've talked about everything _but_ him," she pointed out. "Maybe you were right; maybe we did make this more about us." _Or...maybe I made it more about me._

It was like Hotch could read her mind. "The past is the past," he said knowledgeably. "And anyway, didn't we say we wouldn't blame each other - or ourselves?" Emily hung her head as if to say, _You're right_. In the meantime, her fingers still worked at the hurting skin of his hand. She didn't want to pull away; they both needed what little contact they could get, and they both knew it. "Look at me, Emily." She compiled. "We're not superheroes; we can't save everyone. We're _human_, and humans are subject to some of the most terrible things. The point is, we don't have much control over anything in our lives, really. Just how we handle things. And I _know_ you feel weak," Hotch said, reading her just as skillfully as he always did, "but I want you to know this: if anything, this entire ordeal with Michael, with _us..._it's made you so much stronger. And I admire you for that."

Emily scowled to herself as she felt the tears prickling behind her eyes. _Leave it to Aaron to make me cry, damn it. _"It's going to take a while, you know," she said, more to herself than to anyone else. "_Moving on_, I mean." She dreaded the two words more than anything else in the world, but it was a time for acceptance...that strange word, acceptance. "It's going to take a while, but I'm willing to do it, if...if it means I can be with you."

Hotch's expression softened at her emotional admission. He couldn't take it anymore; closing the distance between them, he molded his lips against hers, reveling in the soft sigh she emitted soon afterward. Her hand unconsciously fisted in the shirt he had slipped on without her noticing. The one thing she needed in this world was his love; Emily realized that now. He was like a drug, like an addiction...even too much of him was never enough.

Hotch was the first to pull back and break the embrace, but he didn't move too far away. Instead, their foreheads still resting against one another, he appealed to her in a hoarse whisper. "I want to tell you something, Emily. That night...a couple nights ago...I wasn't drunk. I mean, yes, I had been drinking...and you could probably taste the alcohol on my breath. But I was perfectly coherent, _believe me_."

Emily looked at him intently, not getting what he was trying to say. "I know," she said, nodding her head.

"No. What I'm trying to say is..." He shut his eyes tightly. "I don't regret a thing. All I regret is pulling away in the first place. I _want_ to stop drinking, I really do. I don't want to have to be dependent on alcohol to get me through the worst of times; I don't want to recede back into that habit again." His body shook slightly; if Emily noticed, she didn't bring it up. "I've thought about it a lot lately, the emotions involved with being a mother. Emily, I can't even begin to imagine how you felt -"

"Yes, you can. You didn't suffer any less." Images of Hotch pummeling a fist into the still dented wall, sinking to his knees on the cold bathroom floor, holding a screaming Michael in his hands - they flooded her all at once, knocking the air from her lungs. "I _know_ you want to stop drinking. You're a smart, caring man. What I want _you_ to know is that I'll always be right here. I'm serious, Aaron; this isn't a moment of weakness for me. Even if you don't believe what I'm telling you right now...if you want to attend AA meetings, I'll be by your side. If you'd rather tackle it here at home, I'll be by your side. And if and when things get difficult..." She just smiled. "You don't have to apologize."

"Then neither do you." Those three words were on the tip of his tongue; for the hundredth time in just a handful of minutes, he heard Emily's voice murmuring to Jack,_ You two are my heart._ God, he wished they could rewind the last couple months and just..._live_.

Before he could make any further public display of his affection for her, however, she interrupted his little blissful escape into his mind.

"So..." She glanced behind them at a window on the far wall. The sun had already set; the sky was becoming progressively darker with every second that passed. "Christmas?"

_"Right_._"_ Hotch shook his head, chuckling ruefully to himself at his forgetfulness. "Thank you for bringing that up. Um...so, it's next Sunday. Obviously, I want to do something as a _family_," he stressed the word, "so I'm open to any suggestions you might have. I was thinking of spending part of the day outside; you know how much Jack loves snow. Hopefully it'll be cold enough by then so the snow actually sticks."

"Hopefully."

"And...well, we can talk about what to get Jack later. He already gave Santa his wish list." He paused for a moment, contemplating his next words. "But, I also wanted to do something together, maybe that Friday or Saturday night; something for just the two of us. If that would be okay with you."

Emily could hardly believe her ears. She didn't know why she became so thrilled at his words; they had dated for over a year, been married for almost the same amount of time...romance was nothing new for them, was it? Regardless, her heart swelled with a schoolgirl-like excitement as she thought of the idea of a date with Hotch; one of the final steps on their road to recovery. They were getting close. _So_ close.

She gave him the smallest - but sweetest - of smiles. "I'd love that. Really, I would." Once again, she spared a glance toward the window, peering outside almost anxiously.

Hotch noticed, of course. Biting back a smile of his own at her ready acceptance, he reversed the roles and took her hand in his this time. "Tell me you'll stay the night."

A look of uncertainty flashed in her dark eyes, but it was replaced with one that was more timid in its constitution. "You...you want me to?"

"I do."

Slowly, Emily rose to her feet, her heart thudding just the slightest bit faster when Hotch mirrored her action with not even a second of hesitation. "I'll, uh...head on to the guest room, then. I believe I remember where all our extra sheets and pillows are," she quipped.

To no one's surprise, Hotch stopped her with a firm hand around her wrist. "You're not sleeping in the guest room, Emily. I thought you knew better than that."

_God_, _he doesn't know what he's doing to me,_ Emily groaned under her breath. His gentle rebuke would have been completely innocent if not for the handsomely teasing lilt in his eyes or the dark promise in his voice that, for the life of her, Emily couldn't tell whether she was imagining or actually hearing. "Aaron, don't start."

"Take the bed." _Our bed_. His voice held no room for argument, and Emily knew it. Still, she didn't back down, instead focusing her dark gaze on him; he wasn't the only Hotchner who had perfected that trademark glare, after all. Hotch sighed. "Please, Emily."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll take the bed. You win this time, Hotchner; but next time? You better watch your back."

Her empty threat caused his lips to lift at the corners. It was all so familiar, the teasing banter, the feigned exasperation. "I'll keep that in mind." There was a pause as Emily reluctantly made her way down the hall to their bedroom; she didn't want to leave him to himself just yet. "Goodnight, Emily."

She stopped in the doorway, turning slowly to face him one last time. Then? She smiled. "Goodnight, Aaron."

And just like that, Emily disappeared into the room, the door swinging shut behind her.

~.~.~

An hour later, and Emily still wasn't asleep.

She wasn't lying beneath the sheets. She wasn't even in the bed. Instead, she paced from one end of the bedroom to the other, her mind racing - in a good way. It was strange, being alone in their bedroom when Hotch should have been with her. Emily knew he was just being his gentlemanly self, but they were_adults_, weren't they? They were _married,_ for God's sake - or at least, they had been.

Surely they would have been able to sleep in the same bed.

It wasn't that Emily wanted a repeat of _that_ night; not that she would object if he offered. No, all she wanted was someone to wrap his arms around her waist and hold her tight, to protect her from the demons of the dark that too often visited her in her sleep. She knew she wasn't alone in that retrospect; she remembered Hotch's recount of his nightmare, the one with her walking off a series of high metal beams and -

She flinched.

Pennsylvania Avenue, he had said. Without much thought, Emily knew the exact construction site Hotch had spoken off, but it wasn't the first thing to spring to mind at the mention of the DC street. Rather, she thought of the White House; she thought of her job, a job she wasn't even sure she still had. Hotch would have to leave first thing in the morning to make his daily commute to the Bureau...and where would she go? What would she do? She wasn't sure she _could_return to their job. She didn't want the pitying glances she knew the team would give her, she didn't want the attention - no matter how inherently good-natured - the girls would shower her in, she didn't want the exceptions Strauss would feel obligated to make for her.

And if it so happened that they came across a particularly nasty case involving the deaths of young children..._babies_, even...

Emily wasn't sure she would ever be objective again. But a part of her wanted so badly to try. She had felt at home at the BAU; the only other place in which she had felt more at home was in Hotch's warm embrace.

It was all so confusing.

Yet, amongst all the confusion, one single thought in Emily's mind prevailed and guided her out of the room and down the hall. It was as if her feet had a mind of their own; they worked of their own volition, moving her forward...forward...forward...

Emily was slipping beneath the covers to the guest bed before she even realized it, her body pressed against Hotch's in the most subtle of ways. For some reason, it didn't surprise Emily to learn that he, too, was still awake as well. He cleared his throat quietly, craning his neck just slightly so as to retain even the slightest bit of eye contact. "Everything okay?" he murmured, his voice, rich like aged whiskey, caressing her heart and soul in the most perfect of ways.

"Everything's fine," she assured, closing her eyes finally. "I just...didn't want to be away from you any longer," she confessed.

In the darkness of the room, Hotch let a sweet smile touch his lips. "Good," he breathed. "Because I didn't want to be away from you, either."

In a matter of seconds, and in each other's arms, they had fallen into a peaceful slumber - the most peaceful slumber they'd had in the longest of times.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Reviews are love! I sincerely hope you enjoyed this particular chapter; things are looking better for our favorite couple with every day that passes, as I'm sure y'all have noticed. Please - take a minute to leave a review, even one or two words! Your feedback is such an amazing motivator for me; I always love hearing what you have to say.<strong>

**Thanks in advance!**


	17. Heartbreak Warfare

**Author's Note: Talk about emotional roller-coaster; this chapter is the epitome of that. I'm trying to remain as realistic as possible, and I know, from the many people I've spoken to about similar situations they've been in, that the range of emotions is a sometimes vicious, never-ending cycle. Hopefully this chapter will accurately depict that. As always, thank you so much for reading and for your support. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

* * *

><p><em>"Hello?"<em>

Hotch's overused cell phone warmed his skin as he pressed it closer to his ear to better hear the woman on the other line. "Hey, it's Aaron."

"Aaron!" He could hear the genuine smile in her voice; he could picture her looking at her phone in surprise. "Wow, it sure has been a while. How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks for asking." Hotch paused, taking a couple more steps away from the bedroom door so as not to wake Emily. "And you?"

"Doing just fine. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I…wanted to talk to you about a couple things. Not really over the phone, of course. But I was wondering if I would be able to drop by your office and see you sometime in the upcoming week." Hotch ran a tired hand through his hair. He had barely been awake for an hour, yet he was already more exhausted than he'd been a good while.

"I'm actually completely booked for the next couple days," she said apologetically, and Hotch could hear her ruffling through sheet after sheet of paper on the other line. A beat of tense silence passed. _"But_…I suppose I could squeeze you in during a lunch break."

So caught up was he in the conversation and the conflict running through his veins that Hotch didn't realize Emily was awake and standing behind him, listening from the doorway. "You'd do that for me? Marissa, you're the best. Thank you so much."

"Anything for you, Aaron. Though I am kind of worried; you sound awfully tense. Everything _is_ okay, right? Jack's doing well? And your wife, too?"

"Well…almost okay. There's a lot I need to catch you up on; but again, I'd rather do it in person, not over the phone. It'd be too much to take in, I think." He bit his bottom lip. "At least, I know it has been for me."

"I understand completely; it's my job to understand, after all. Just call me whenever you're free, and we'll talk, I promise."

"Thank you. I appreciate it, and I know my wife does, too." That piqued Emily's interest_. _"Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Aaron."

Hanging up, Hotch sighed. Marissa was the best therapist he knew; and that was saying something, seeing as he'd had more than his fair share of experiences with a multitude of counselors, psychologists, psychiatrists. Being in the FBI had its perks _and_ its consequences, after all. If he were honest with himself, Hotch knew he hated having to draw someone else – an outsider – into his personal business. But all he wanted was for things to be back to normal between himself and Emily, and he was fully willing to do whatever it would take.

They deserved normalcy. Right?

He almost jumped out of his skin, however, when Emily approached him from behind, a question falling from her lips. "Who were you talking to?" she asked curiously; and for the life of him, Hotch couldn't tell whether or not that curiosity was innocent.

"Oh, uh, that was Marissa, my old therapist that I was telling you about earlier. You know, the one I went to see after Haley...and Foyet..." Hotch cleared his throat awkwardly at Emily's resulting silence. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you something. Do you have a preference as to when we should go see her to talk about...things? She said she was booked for the rest of the week, but I was one of her success stories; whenever we want to see her, she'll find a way to clear up her schedule for a good hour or so." Slowly, he reached out to take her hand in his, caressing the smooth skin of her knuckles with a calloused thumb. "So?"

"Honestly, I don't have a preference. It's up to you," Emily said simply, giving him the tiniest of smiles before making her way to their kitchen in search of the strong, freshly brewed coffee she smelled in the air. "Besides, it's not like I'm going anywhere everyday. I thought about going to work yesterday...only to realize that I had not even the slightest inclination to re-enter that building. At least, for now," she admitted, the words spilling from her lips before she could stop them. She didn't want Hotch to worry; they had done enough of that in the past months, God knew that much. But the truth was the truth, and they had vowed to tell no more lies to one another. They were starting over.

Or were they? There were so many things that couldn't be repeated; but Emily refused to think about them.

"Okay," Hotch said vaguely, his mind still processing the words Emily had just said. Obviously, they still had much more to discuss. "Well, we'll talk about it some more later on today or tomorrow. I value your input, you know."

Emily's expression softened. "I know." Again, she smiled, then poured herself a cup of steaming coffee. "As I value yours. I don't know, I'm in a weird mood this morning. I'm just tired, I guess."

"Boy, don't I know it." He cracked a smile of his own. "But anyway, I was thinking; why don't we worry about Jack's gifts first?" It was a good enough segue; a good enough conversation changer.

"That's funny, I was just thinking the same thing." What was that quote, about lovers being two sides of the same coin? "Speaking of which, you said he already gave you his wish list?"

"He did," Hotch confirmed. "And, call me a bad father, but I haven't even gotten a chance to look at it yet. Usually I would have his gifts _wrapped_ by now."

"I would never call you a bad father," Emily whispered.

"I..." His breath caught in the back of his throat. _Damn it, Hotchner_. "I know. God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way," he murmured. Turning away, he headed out of the kitchen without another word, returning a minute later with Jack's wish list in hand. It was folded into a tiny little uneven square, a fact that made an amused smile curve Hotch's lips. "Here." He held it in his outstretched hands, hyperaware of Emily's intoxicating presence as she moved up behind him, reading the childishly disproportionate handwriting from over his shoulder. Her arms draped across his chest; her chest pressed against his back as she read.

_Dear Santa, _the letter read, _thanks for last year's gifts. I really liked them a whole lot, especially my train set and new G.I. Joe. He's cool. This year, I really want a new bike, so I can go bike riding with my Daddy a lot. I like bike riding. I also kind of want the DVD of the Wiggles, 'cause I like them a lot, too. But most of all, I really want..._

Emily stopped reading. She froze; all the muscles in her body stiffened painfully as she read the young boy's last words.

The next thing Hotch knew, Emily was no longer behind him; she was no where to be found. All because of the very last sentence: _But most of all, I really want Mommy to come back home to me and Daddy 'cause I miss her a lot. Please, Santa._

He cursed under his breath, and immediately pushed himself up from the couch he had previously been sitting on. It took a full minute, but he eventually found Emily, standing in the middle of their master bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. He thanked his lucky stars that she wasn't crying; he didn't think he'd be able to handle seeing her in any more pain.

"Hey." Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him in the process. Before she could muster a half-hearted response, he had leaned down and captured her lips in the softest of kisses, molding his lips against hers in an embrace that communicated to her just how strongly he felt for her - even if he was too cowardly to go back in time and say the three words they needed so desperately to hear one another say once more. "He didn't mean it in that way," Hotch said instantly, appealing to her with sincerity in his dark eyes. "He's just young, Emily. He's too young to understand."

"But that's just it," she countered, refusing to meet his gaze. "And _don't_ say anything about me blaming this on myself; that's irrelevant at the moment. I just...hate that he's had to go through so much, you know? He doesn't deserve it."

"Nobody does." Hotch itched to reach for a bottle, of scotch maybe, or even a good red wine, but instead, he simply held Emily to himself even tighter than before. _She_ was what he needed; nothing else. He knew that now. "But...if you want to talk about it, with Jack or without him...you know we can."

Emily's arms slackened slightly; her heart swelled with something reminiscent to love. "To be honest? I don't think that'll be necessary," she said earnestly, a certain burden lifting from her shoulders. She was still frustrated; she would be for a while. Her voice was quiet, subdued...but not shy, not when she knew Hotch would be willing to speak to her about anything.

She, too, was reaching that monumental point.

Emily sighed. "I just need an escape." It was almost a taboo. She had said the words too many times before, each time resulting in conflict. But this time? Her eyes flashed up to his, then back down to the floor.

"Then let's get out of here. Let's go gift shopping, get some fresh air." The words seemed so awkward and out of place - until Emily remembered what they had been aiming to accomplish in the first place. _Right. Jack's wish list._ "And after that?" Hotch continued. "Well...after that is Christmas. And I haven't forgotten my offer to you."

_Oh._ "Your -"

"Dinner, just the two of us." Emily swore she heard his voice deepen, become huskier. She swallowed thickly at his next words. "No distractions."

_Dear God_.

Try as she might, Emily couldn't suppress the coy smile that flirted across her lips. It was just so easy to be with him; it was just so easy to be in love. "Are you asking me out on a date, Aaron Hotchner?"

The tension in the air slowly disappeared. Hotch chuckled to himself. "I was under the impression you had already accepted."

"Yes, well..." Her voice trailed away; _sometimes, some things are better left unsaid,_ she heard Hotch whisper, seemingly a lifetime ago. "Let's go shopping then."

They left the house with no objection.

~.~.~

"Are you staying for real now?" Jack asked excitedly, bounding into the room mere seconds after Hotch and Emily had successfully hidden the boy's many Christmas gifts.

Just like that, Emily was momentarily floored. In a heartbeat, the lightheartedness of the day disappeared without a trace. She didn't have to worry about answering Jack for much longer, however; Hotch answered for her. "I don't see why not," he said nonchalantly, looking at her with that intent gaze of his, the unrelenting gaze that she almost always yielded to.

But not this time. Obviously flummoxed, she looked back and forth between her two favorite boys, her heart pounding with the sudden confrontation. Didn't he understand? She needed _time_ to think about these things, for God's sake! "Jack, honey, we already talked about this. You know I want to."

The boy pouted; the answer wasn't satisfying enough. "Are you at least gonna stay here tonight? Oh, and for Christmas?" A beat passed. "And New Year's?"

She lovingly took his small face in her hands. "Christmas? Yes, definitely. New Year's...probably. I'd like to." She sighed, avoiding Hotch's gaze. "But tonight..."

_"Please?"_

"All my clothes and necessities are back at my apartment," Emily said pointedly. Hotch was filled with a sick sense of happiness that she hadn't called her apartment 'home'; home was here, in his arms, by the fireplace...home was with Jack, and with Michael.

Hotch's heart clenched at the dark place his mind suddenly went to.

"So, can't you go back to your apartment and get some stuff and come back?" Jack asked, ever the persistent one.

Emily opened her mouth to speak, but once again, Hotch beat her to the punch. Literally. "Buddy, if Mom doesn't want to stay here tonight, she doesn't have to." He hadn't meant it like _that_, not initially, at least. But, nonetheless, the bitterness in his voice shocked them both; it made Emily's heart drop to her stomach. Had she really been that oblivious to his demeanor for the entire day? Had he even been like this for the entire day? She had so many questions to ask, it was overwhelming. She had readily admitted that she had woken up on the wrong side of the bed; it was just an odd day.

Or was it something more?

A strange clucking noise freed itself from the back of her throat. "Aaron, you know me wanting to stay here has nothing to do with it -"

"Can we talk for a second?" he interrupted. Jack took that as his cue to dejectedly leave the small room. When Emily said nothing, he continued. "Emily, look. You know I respect you. You know I respect your actions, your thought processes. But I thought we were moving in the right direction. We have toothpaste here. We have an extra toothbrush in the guest bathroom, shampoo, soap, lotion, towels - anything and everything. You need clothes to sleep in? I'll give you some of mine. _Please_. Give me a better reason for why you're not staying tonight." _Don't insult my intelligence, sweetheart._

"You already _know_, Aaron," she countered, impatience rising quickly in her tone. "I hate this house."

Hotch wanted to make a remark about how he had heard her say the exact opposite to Jack the other night...but he wisely kept his mouth shut. "Okay," he conceded, his quiet tone of voice almost unsettling. _Blame it on the house_. "Okay. As long as you're happy," he said earnestly. "I'm not going to argue anymore. I've had enough arguments for a lifetime, quite frankly."

"You and me both." Emily huffed out a small sigh.

The resulting silence was stifling - and seemed to last a lifetime.

"Well, I guess I'll see you on Friday then."

"I guess so." He watched as she made her way to the door; _Without even saying goodbye to Jack?_ he wondered. "Goodnight, Em," he prompted.

She paused in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder in a clear demonstration of guilt and conflicted emotions. "Goodnight, Aaron."

The front door swung shut behind her, but not quickly enough for Emily to forgo hearing Jack in another room, calling out to her. With heavy steps, she settled into her car and turned the key in the ignition - and just sat there, staring into the night sky. They'd had a marginally good day; a marginally _normal_ day, what with them going shopping together at Toys R Us, browsing the selections like any other husband and wife picking out gifts for their children. They'd even gone out for lunch, albeit a brief one. They laughed, had serious but open-minded conversations, even kissed a couple more times...

But in that one moment, something inside just _broke free_, and reminded them both that they had thousands of more things to discuss, their _divorce_ being a main one. How could one even try to be normal when the situation they were in was anything but? It was a paradox, an abyss that neither wanted to look into, much less be in.

Her hand clenching around the steering wheel until her knuckles were white, Emily drove off down the street, her mind running circles. What was she doing, blaming her troubles on the house, when in all reality, it was _she _who refused to move on, _she_ who refused to put herself first for once and free herself from the hell she was putting her heart through? And Jack. Oh, Jack.

_You tell yourself you feel sorry for the sweet boy, yet you leave him without a single word, you ignore his cries, and you can't even stay a single night to assuage him? Some mother you are, _that self-deprecating voice whispered viciously. White hot tears clawed at her eyes; her throat tightened.

"I'm sorry," she said aloud, desperation coloring her tone. "I'm so sorry."

And for the first time in a long time, Emily began to cry.

~.~.~

Emily was not surprised in the least when, a mere five minutes later, she let out a frustrated scream and turned her car around, heading back _home_. Paying no heed to the traffic laws - no one else was really on the street anyway -, she sped down the street in a daze. They were all so crazy, the emotions running through her mind. There was not even a slight shred of consistency; one minute she was blissfully in love, then frustrated the next, then confrontational, then unbelievably wistful. It was taking a toll on her body and her sanity, that much she knew; but she couldn't bring herself to care, no, not when their house - for it was _theirs_ and always would be - was in sight.

Her car was barely parked in the driveway when she flung open the door and ran across the driveway. She didn't even have to knock or ring the doorbell; it swung open the moment she neared.

Upon taking in her frazzled appearance, Hotch was more confused than she had ever seen him. "Emily, have you been crying?" he asked urgently. "Wait, what's wrong, are you okay -"

She cut him off with a hard kiss that nearly knocked him backward in result. But he recovered quickly, plundering her mouth with his tongue as she opened herself up to him; not just her body, but her heart and soul as well. They had always been his. A shiver ran down her spine as she felt Hotch's large hands tangle in her hair, pulling her closer, cupping the nape of her neck, stroking her sensitive skin. It was too much; everything was just _too much_.

"God, I'm so sorry," she finally gasped out, her chest heaving. "I couldn't even make it a mile down the street because I knew that what I was doing was so wrong. I have this..._sick_ tendency of running away when I feel like I'm not strong enough to confront what I need to. But you've made me see otherwise, Aaron. _You_ make me strong. And I know I'm acting absolutely bipolar right now, but...I can't do this," she relented, her head knocking back against their front door as Hotch continued kissing her jaw, then her neck, then her collarbone... "I can't do this alone. We've said we're tired of arguing too many times to count, but we keep on doing it; I _mean_ it this time, Aaron. I just want to be with you." Those last words came out in a hushed, anxious whisper as she clutched to the fabric of his shirt with all her might.

"That makes two of us," he said against her skin, wrapping his arms snugly around her waist. He never planned on letting go.

"Let's see your therapist as soon as possible, okay?" she said passionately, her gaze seeking his. "I want to be free again. I want to be able to search my thoughts and see nothing but the good times. Because there are so many that we've had together. I realize that now."

Hotch swallowed thickly, unashamed hope rising within him. "Does this mean you're..."

"Staying for the night? If you'll have me." Emily realized then that her hands were clasped firmly in Hotch's. "And if you'll forgive me. Yes, we have more to talk about. But I trust we'll do that later, when the time comes. Right now, I just want to take a minute to breathe and...feel safe." Her smile was sheepish. "I feel safe in your presence, Aaron."

_I love you_, he wanted to say. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops, and announce it to every person that walked the earth. Emily Prentiss was his; he was hers. "Of course I'll have you," he said. "In fact, I -"

Hotch was interrupted by a shout and the sound of quickly advancing footsteps as a six year old boy leaped into Emily's arms and buried his face in the crook of her neck. "Mommy, please stay."

She brushed his hair out of his eyes. "You'll never have to ask me that again," she promised. "Right here, with you, is right where I belong, Jack." Her eyes fell shut as Hotch reverently combed his fingers through her dark locks. Slowly, she met his gaze. "With you, too, Aaron."

He just smiled his curious smile. "I know." They'd been through this emotional roller-coaster more times than either of them were proud of, but somehow, deep down inside, Hotch knew...this time was the last time. Maybe things were finally falling into place.

One could only hope.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Date night is coming up next! Thanks for being patient with me, and thank you so much for taking the time to read; it means so very much to me! Please don't forget to leave me a review; I love hearing what you have to say, and what thoughts you have on where you think the story should go. No account needed!<strong>


	18. A Honeymoon in DC

**Author's Note: Finally, a chapter that is nothing but fluff and love. I think we've all earned that much, don't you? As always, thank you so very much for reading; I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

* * *

><p>Gazing into her full length mirror, Emily let her mind wander - lest she surely go insane. She was all alone in her apartment, after having to go there to get an arsenal of her favorite clothes; including the outfit she was currently wearing. She hadn't <em>officially<em> moved back into their house; though she knew they were both more than willing to share living quarters once more, they had both equitably agreed to take things slow.

Which is how Emily found herself with only her reflection as her companion. Despite the chilly weather outside, the air surrounding Emily was stifling, only partially due to the smoking curling iron in her hand.

Her mind spun. They were going on a _date_.

The sheer thought made her giddy with a flurry of emotions. She knew it was crazy; just how many dates had they been on in the past? Too many to count. Yet she still felt as if she were a teenager being left alone with her long-time crush for the first time. Giddy didn't even _begin _to describe it.

Little did she know, as he rounded the street that would bring him to her apartment, Hotch was feeling the exact same way.

As she tended to one delicate ebony curl at a time - for she had always known that curls were Hotch's favorite -, Emily willed herself to be calm. There were no expectations for the night ahead, only gentle conversation between two lost souls. Over dinner, they would see that there was no reason to be so guarded and on defense. Everything would be absolutely fine -

And then, Hotch knocked on her door; and the sudden noise caused Emily to drop her iron in a state of surprise.

_"Shit,"_ she hissed, jumping back and letting the offending object fall to the floor. The bared skin on the side of her neck and shoulder burned an angry pink color before receding into a dull, pained throbbing. "I'm coming!" Emily yelled out, loudly enough for Hotch to hear. Then, with a snarl on her lips, she bent to pick up the curler and - carefully - finished the last two strands of her hair, before finally making her way to the door.

Still, her heart beat like a hummingbird's wings.

And then, there he was, standing before her in a suit of impeccable taste and tailoring; of course, she had expected nothing less. Upon seeing each other, their reactions were simultaneous; their breath caught in the backs of their throats, their lips parted to speak - though neither one of them knew what to say.

Finally, Emily smiled, reaching out to smooth down his tie. "We match," she said almost breathlessly.

Hotch gazed at her, in her midnight blue eyelet lace dress. The cut and design were all kinds of modest, but that only made her look all the more endearing. He smiled down at his navy and silver tie. "We _do _match," he noticed, mirth sparkling in his eyes.

Two sides of the same coin. He had been right.

He cleared his throat. "I got you, uh..." He stopped, looked around. "Shit," he murmured. "Em, I left your flowers in my car, um...I'm going to go get them really quick."

She laughed at the almost schoolboyishly skittish tone of his voice; and as he took off down the hallway as well. "Aaron," she protested, leaning out the door to peer at him.

His name falling from her sweet lips caused Hotch's step to falter; he turned to look back at her for a split second, a smile of his own on his lips.

But once again, he was off.

When Hotch returned, however, he had the most beautiful flower bouquet Emily had ever seen in his hands; an elegant medley of white lilies, baby violets, and sprigs of rosemary. Their powerful perfume made Emily the slightest bit dizzy - in the best of ways. "These are for you," he said softly, tenderly, pressing the bouquet into her clasped hands.

Slowly, their gazes met. "Aaron..." she shook her head, _"thank you_._"_ Her lips rested against the hollow of his cheek. "They're beautiful," she whispered.

"They pale in your comparison." Emily's eyes fell shut at his compliment; casually, their fingers intertwined. This was how it had always been between them, _perfect_. Quietly, he turned to murmur in her ear. "Are your ready?"

"I am."

"Then let's go."

Emily gave Hotch a gracious smile as he handed her the small silver clutch purse she had been reaching for. "Yes. Let's."

~.~.~

Emily looked around the interior of the cost, intimate restaurant with an air of pleasurable familiarity - especially win she regarded the small empty booth in the far corner. "Is this where we -"

"- went on our first date?" Hotch interrupted, "Yes. Remember?" He came up behind her, his hot breathe tickling the shell of her ear. "We sat at _that_ booth," he pointed, "over there in the corner."

"How could I forget?"

Hotch simply smiled.

A good five minutes later, they were sitting in their booth, reminiscing good times, when they were approached by a handsome young waiter. "Good evening," he greeted warmly, passing out napkins and the necessary utensils. "My name is Logan and I will be your server for the night. Can I start you two off with any drinks?"

Before Emily could answer, however, Hotch turned toward Logan, his expression a kind one. "We'll have your finest champagne, please."

"Aaron -"

He caught her hand with his, massaged her pale pink-tipped fingers, smiled. _Don't worry about it, _he said with those dark hazel eyes she load so much.

"As you wish, sir," Logan responded. "And...would you like to order now, or would you like a few more minutes to peruse the menus?" he continued, pen and paper ready.

"Actually, I was going to ask if you could recommend us something," Hotch answered matter-of-factly, ignoring Emily's resulting confused look. "You see, my wife and I...we're on our honeymoon," he said lovingly, "and we've never been here before."

"You're on your honeymoon? Congratulations," Logan said earnestly, his tone bright and enthusiastic. Emily bit back her laughter. "Let's see. If you like fish, we have really delicious lemongrass-panko crusted sea bass with gingered basmati rice and Thai green curry sauce on the side," he mused aloud. "For some variety in meats, our tenderloin steaks with gorgonzola, roasted garlic, and grape tomato pasta is really good; that's got to be my personal favorite. Or you could always go with a classic chicken parmesan. The pesto sauce it's cooked in is incredible."

"Hmmm...I think I'll have the steak," Emily said, licking her lips.

Once again, Hotch smiled. "Make that two."

_"Perfect._ I'll make sure your food is right out, alright?"

"Alright, thank you." The moment the young waiter was out of earshot, however, Emily let out a peal of laughter. "No one goes to DC for their honeymoon," she whispered amusedly, leaning across the table.

"No one but us, apparently," Hotch countered smartly. "DC, Italy...same difference." Then he winked, causing Emily to laugh once more, and he couldn't help it; taking advantage of her parted lips, Hotch captured her lips with his in a languid, dreamy kiss.

Emily hummed contentedly. "Not that I'm objecting, but...what brought this on?"

He smirked slightly at the cute pout she gave when he pulled away. "It was, uh...something I remembered my dad saying. I was really young, and I don't know why I thought about this just now, but...he was joking with me and he said, 'If you ever want better restaurant service, say you're on your honeymoon.' I, of course, thought that was the funniest thing at the time." Hotch swallowed thickly, suddenly serious. "My dad, he..."

But his voice faded away.

Emily's expression softened; she gave his hand a squeeze. "You don't have to talk about him if you don't want to."

"I know." Their gazes met. "But sometimes...sometimes I _do_ want to, you know?"

She nodded. "And those times that you do want to talk - about him, about anything? You can talk to me." _I'm here for you._

Hotch shut his eyes. "I know." _Thank you_.

~.~.~

"So," Hotch said, as Logan placed their complimentary 'honeymoon' dessert - a rich chocolate molten cake topped with French vanilla ice cream, caramel sauce, and chopped walnuts - in front of them, then walked away, "I was thinking -"

"Uh oh," Emily cracked.

Hotch rolled his eyes. "Very funny, Emily," he droned. "_Anyway,_ I was thinking; when we get home, we should...I don't know, wrap some of Jack's presents. Or watch a movie, or do whatever you'd like to."

Emily smiled. "That's a good idea. Because Jack's at Jessica's for the rest of the night, so we wouldn't run the risk of ruining the surprise for him like we would if he were in the house," she said understandingly.

"Exactly. Besides...I know you like wrapping presents," Hotch said.

"I do."

A beat passed. "And _really_, _how_ would you wrap a bicycle?" Hotch asked. Something about the inflection in his voice put the image of him covering Jack's bike in wrapping paper in Emily's mind, causing her to let yet another adorable laugh slip past.

_"I_ don't know!" she said, putting her hands up in surrender. "Uh...put a big ribbon on the handlebars?"

_"Ah_. I like the way you think," Hotch grinned - actually grinned, for the first time in months.

"Then maybe you'll like this? I've been thinking of baking fresh gingerbread cookies early Christmas morning," Emily revealed. "Jack does like gingerbread, right? Oh, please say yes."

"He doesn't like it; he _loves_ it," Hotch amended playfully.

"That's what I thought," Emily said, with the tiniest sigh of relief. "Good. But you _cannot_ tell him about this, Emily said adamantly, with a passion in her eyes that Hotch had missed seeing so dearly. "It has to be our little secret."

"My lips are sealed, I promise. Though, if I may say one thing..." He leaned closer to Emily. "Jack's going to love it, I can guarantee it."

Emily's heart warmed happily. "I hope so." A moan rattled around in the back of her throat as Hotch took a spoon of the delectable chocolate dessert and fed it to her, holding the utensil between her full lips. "And what about you? For the life of me, I cannot remember if you like gingerbread cookies as well."

"I like _your_ gingerbread cookies." Hotch paused. "And that was not intended to be a euphemism of any kind."

Emily almost choked on her champagne; together, they laughed harder than they had in much too long. Hotch sighed amusedly, watching as Emily steadied her breathing. Her eyes shone with unadulterated adoration - though Hotch was too scared to read her expression in that way. "This is nice," she breathed, her voice husky. "It's almost..."

"Normal," he finished. "Though, you and I could never be _truly_ normal," he pointed out with a quirk of his lips.

"But as normal as we could be...I'd say this is it."

Hotch allowed Emily to feed him the last bit of the flavorful cake. "I would have to agree."

~.~.~

Naked and panting, Hotch was hovering over Emily, ready to join them together in the most carnally intimate of ways...when he saw it. His fingers ghosted over the skin of Emily's neck. "What happened here?" he asked, able to see the angry pink discrepancy on her normally perfect skin, even in the darkness of their bedroom.

He knew her inside and out, after all.

"Oh, that," Emily managed, dazed with lust. "I, uh...dropped my curling iron earlier today, when you knocked on my door. Burned a little skin. It's not a big deal."

Hotch gazed deep into her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She urged him closer with a kiss, _aching_ for the completion that only he could bring her.

"Does it hurt?" Hotch murmured, peppering kisses along her jaw.

"I haven't been thinking about it, so...no," she answered. Impatience crawled beneath her skin. "Aaron..."

Finally, he took her off guard; and, shaping his lips around the sensitive burn, he sucked _hard_, igniting a different kind of burn deep within Emily's core. Her head fell back against the pillows and she let out a keening groan of submission, twining her fingers in his coarse dark hair. "Oh, holy - _Aaron." _Her hips bucked forward uncontrollably as Hotch's relentless, passionate assault on her neck continued. The flame within morphed into a full-on inferno of need. "Aaron, _please._"

He tore his lips from her neck reluctantly. "Please what?" he rasped, a dangerously handsome smile flirting across his lips.

Emily's eyes fell closed. "Please...just make love to me, Aaron," she whispered.

"Gladly," Hotch said in return.

And that was exactly what he did - for the rest of the night.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Again, I thank you all for your patience and support over the course of writing this story; your feedback means so incredibly much to me, so <em>please<em>, take a minute to leave a review - even if you haven't before! No matter how long or short, signed or anonymous, they are the most incredible inspiration and motivation I could ask for. Thank you in advance!****


	19. Close the Path to Misery

**Author's Note: More fluff, more remedying conversation, more love, more happy Jack. What could be better than that on Christmas Eve? As always, thank you so very much for reading; I sincerely hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

* * *

><p>Emily woke to the cathartic feeling of Hotch's calloused hands stroking the taut skin of her stomach. Mumbling sleepily to herself, she burrowed farther into the blankets, pressing her back flush against his chest in the process - and that was when she felt it; cotton and...<em>denim?<em>

Craning her neck to look back at him, Emily regarded Hotch with an air of confusion. "Why are you...wearing clothes?" she managed, her voice groggy with sleep.

Hotch laughed endearingly, pressing a kiss that tasted faintly of coffee to Emily's barely parted lips. "I decided to pick up Jack a bit early," he explained. "You were out cold; I didn't want to wake you. Jack fell asleep again, though."

"Smart boy," Emily said, yawning into her pillow. "It is _way_ too early."

"Sweetheart, it's half past eight."

"And on a Saturday, that is an inhumane time to be up." She gave him a quick kiss; just because. "Now let me go back to sleep."

Hotch said nothing further, just continued to idly dance his fingers along Emily's bared stomach and ribcage. He did this for an innumerable stretch of time before speaking his mind; there had been one single question that had been hiding amongst the rest of his thoughts for seemingly forever. Yet Hotch was always hesitant to bring it up; after all, the last time he had, it had cost him his marriage. _But_ _paper is paper_, he tried reminding himself.

_Right?_

Quietly, he cleared his throat before burying his face in Emily's dark curls. "Hey," he said gently. "Em?"

He was not surprised in the slightest to find that she was still awake. "Yeah?"

"Have you ever thought -" Hotch stopped, reworded. "I mean, I know I've brought this up before, a while back, and we talked about it for a little bit, but -" Again, he stopped; he was _nervous_.

Rolling to her side, Emily's gaze sought his. "Aaron, what is it?"

He turned away. "Have you ever thought of...of having another baby? Trying again?"

Emily stiffened.

Hotch frowned; she was going to react negatively, he just knew it. "Forget I said anything about it," he said goodnaturedly; but at the same time, he sighed, making to get off the bed.

Emily caught him around the wrist before he could go too far. "No," she protested. "Aaron..." She glanced pointedly down at the newly vacated space beside her, visibly relaxing as Hotch sat down beside her once more. "I can't think of it _now_," she finally said, looking curiously at their entwined hands. "But, I'll admit; when I think of our future, of you and me a year or two down the road...I can't _not_ see us without a child or two of our own." Hotch's heart practically stopped. "But, it's just a lot to put a mother through," she continued, not caring that she was beginning to ramble. "I don't really know how to explain it, but...with every kick, stretch, or tiny movement, you become so much more in tune and _connected_ with your baby; and then it hits you, and you realize that a little bud of life is actually growing within you. Hollywood makes the mother-child prenatal bond seem so unreal; but when you're pregnant, _nothing_ in the entire world seems more real. You get so attached -" A little gasp slipped past her lips, she shook her head; and then, Emily gave him a watery smile. "You really want a baby, don't you?"

Hotch swallowed thickly. "Yeah," he said eventually, his voice just the slightest bit shaky. "Yeah, I do."

"Maybe a little girl," Emily said wistfully, her heart travelling to some far off place. "A little girl with dark wavy hair and hazel eyes..." she cupped his cheek in a soft palm, "and her father's dimples."

Hotch's heart clenched at the sheer thought; an indescribable chill raced down his spine. _She would be so beautiful..._ "That would be nice," he choked out.

"Yeah," Emily murmured, snuggling back against his broad chest. "That would be really nice."

~.~.~

"- and Aunt Jessie said that, before the service, there's gonna be a Christmas _concert!_ And the church choir's gonna sing, and there are gonna be all sorts of musical instruments, too. _Oh,_ and there's a bell choir! An entire choir made of _bells_, Daddy. Doesn't that sound cool?" Jack's small hands wrapped around Hotch's forearm, his adorable brown eyes wider than ever. "Can we go, Daddy? Please?"

Hotch smiled at the boy's excitement, then lifted him into his arms with only a little difficulty and placed him on the kitchen counter. "You really want to go to Christmas Eve service, huh?" Jack nodded eagerly; Hotch's smile grew proudly. "You're going to have to dress up, you know."

A beat passed. "Do I have to wear a tie?"

"Hmmm, I guess not," Hotch said playfully. "I'm sure you and I can find something comfortable for you to wear. We're going to make sure you look real handsome, buddy, no worries."

"Oh, I don't know; I think Jack _always_ looks handsome."

"Mommy!" Jack leaped off the counter and ran over to give Emily a bear hug, before peering up at her and shooting her a toothy grin. "Hi."

Emily dropped a kiss into his gorgeous blonde locks. "Good morning, sweetheart," she crooned. "What were you and Daddy chattering about?" Her gaze found Hotch's.

"Mr. Jack here wants to go to church tonight for Christmas Eve service," Hotch said, running a hand through his son's hair.

"And for the bell choir!" Jack made sure to include. "Mommy, did you know that there's a choir made of just _bells?"_

She gasped theatrically; there was nothing she loved more in the world than indulging her sweet boy. "Is there really?"

"Uh huh! And they're playing Christmas songs tonight," Jack informed, practically bouncing up and down in his uncontainable excitement. "I like Christmas songs. And Daddy said we can go. You're coming with us, right?"

"I, uh..." Emily gave him a small smile. "Of course I'm coming. I'm actually _super_ excited to see this choir you keep praising."

"Me, too! Oh, I need to find my socks - Daddy, will you help me?"

"Sure, buddy." And at that, Jack dashed off towards is room. Slowly, Hotch advanced toward Emily, a careful look in his eyes; and before she knew it, Hotch had come up behind her, his arms moving to wrap around her waist. "You're okay with this, right?"

She relaxed against his chest. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, I just -" Hotch toyed with Emily's fingers to give him something to do. "I don't exactly have perfect church attendance. In fact...I can't even remember the last time I went to church. But the fact that Jack wants to go...that makes me so happy," he said quietly.

"It makes me happy, too," Emily said sincerely. "I know what you mean; I haven't set foot into a church since..." _God, since when?_ She swallowed thickly, "Since that case around five years ago, with Matthew and John. But -"

Her voice broke.

At once, Hotch's soothing voice filled her ears. "That's why I asked," he said gently. _My poor Emily_. "Sweetheart, if you don't want to go, we don't have to. Jessica's going to the service; I know she wouldn't mind taking Jack with her. Or you, me, and Jack could do something else together -"

"No, no, no," Emily interrupted, her mind somewhere else; _he called he sweetheart,_ she reflected. "No, Aaron, I told Jack I was going with you, and I want to make do on that promise. He wants to go, and...and I would like to go, too," she said almost sheepishly. "After all, there's no time like the present to start your life over...right?"

Hotch felt an immense sense of relief - and, once again, of pride - flood his system. "I think you're absolutely right," he said, his voice nothing short of encouraging.

"Besides, it's good that we do this together. You know, as a..."

"As a family," Hotch said, turning Emily to face him. She was still nestled safely in his arms; and as time passed, she found that she never wanted to be anywhere else.

"Yeah," Emily whispered. "As a family."

~.~.~

Emily figured the concert of sorts was drawing to a close when the overhead lights in the chapel dimmed - only to be replaced by the soft yellow glow of candles as members of the church choir came to stand on either side of each pew. The soft ethereal strands of music came to her ears then, the sound of children's and adults' voices alike mixing in the large space around them. The gentle, almost mysterious melody of 'O Come, O Come, Emmanuel' threatened to seize her heart and move her to tears; but instead, Emily's mind was transported to a completely different place, a place she dreaded returning to.

_"John...whatever I say, please don't hate me, okay?" fifteen year old Emily asked, her eyes pleading._

_"Of course not. Why would I hate you?"_

_She took a deep breath. "Because…I…" Her voice cracked and she looked away._

_"Come on. Whatever it is, you can tell me." He took her hand in his as a reassuring gesture._

_A long, daunting minute passed. Then: "I'm pregnant," she finally said, her eyes not meeting his._

_He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He closed it slowly, looking like an odd fish gasping for air. "You…" __She nodded, unable to say anything. __"Emily…you know we can't...you can't...how are we supposed to raise a child?" He swallowed thickly, knowing they only had one choice. "Em, you have to get an abortion."_

_She hadn't even thought about it. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, she gasped. "You want me to kill an innocent baby?" she asked incredulously._

_He didn't know how to answer that, so he said nothing._

The scene changed.

__"Father, I can't…I mean, I have to…" She couldn't say the words; she looked away in shame.__

_"She can't keep the baby," Matthew said, his hand finding hers and offering some much needed support._

_Gamino's expression changed dramatically. "Do you mean to tell me that you are planning on having an abortion?" he asked slowly._

_"Yes," Emily managed softly._

_"Could you give us some advice?" Matthew asked confidently._

_"I'll say one thing, and one thing only." The priest walked closer and closer, the sound of every footstep resonating throughout the large room. "If you choose to go through with the abortion, you are no longer welcome in my congregation."_

_Emily's heart fell, and all hope that she had disappeared. She was ready to turn and walk away, but Matthew's voice stopped her._

_He was outraged. Addressing Father Gamino, he said, "Excuse me, Father, but I don't think that's fair. It's not like Emily has a choice."_

_"She does have a choice. She's choosing to murder an innocent child."_

_Emily let a sob escape at the accusation, and that just fueled Matthew's anger. "She's too young! She can't possibly raise a baby at fifteen!"_

_"Well, then she should have thought of that earlier."_

Emily shivered, though, in her black coat, she wasn't the slightest bit cold. Beside her, the flame of the candle that the nearest chorister was holding flickered, almost went out completely.

Just when Emily thought she had been freed from flashbacks, however, yet another dark scenario filled her head. This one was, if possible, even worse. She had the scars to prove it.

_"What are we waiting for, Lauren? We're right here at the church already. We should get married right now. It needn't be too large a ceremony; just me, you, and Declan. At least...if that's what you want, love."_

_Emily met his dark gaze with a tired expression of her own. "Ian, I told you. I am not the marrying type."_

_"So we won't take any vows that bind our futures together for all of eternity," he said, as if mocking the nature of traditional marriage. "Lauren, all I want to be able to do is put a ring on your finger and show you off to the rest of the world as my wife. Is that so much to ask?"_

_"Somehow, that viewpoint does not surprise me one bit."_

_Doyle sobered. "Think of Declan; he wants you to be his mother so badly. Why not make that official?"_

_"Ian..." Emily turned away as they walked straight past the church. Her next words fell from her lips without much thought; or any thought at all, unfortunately. "I thought you were above using your son to guilt trip me." __Doyle's stride came to a sudden stop. Emily's eyes widened slightly. "I mean -"_

_His hand came up to her neck immediately, bunching the thick golden chain which he had given her in a tight fist. A gasp was torn from the back of her throat; Emily was scared. "Yes?" he prompted, his eyes boring holes into hers._

_"I...I just meant...you know you don't have to use Declan against me," Emily said in a breathless. "You know I love him with all my heart." She paused. "You know I love you."_

_Silence lapsed between them. And then, eventually, the same hand that was clutching at the necklace moved, instead, to caress the sensitive skin of Emily's neck. "I know. And I respect your wishes. But you know me, love; I'll keep trying for your hand until the day I die."_

_She swallowed thickly. "I know."_

But that memory wasn't the last that involved Ian Doyle.

_Emily struggled against the rope binding her every limb to the wooden chair as Doyle circled her like a lion circles its prey. _

_"You're insufferable, Lauren Reynolds; forgive me, I meant Emily Prentiss." He spat the name out with malice. "You said you loved my son like your own; yet you took him away from the one family member he had. How is that for love, huh?" He kicked her chair, causing her to start. "Every single second of every day, I think of him. Once every single year, I visit the church I had him baptized; and every single year, I light candles to celebrate his birthday. I _never_ forget." Doyle suddenly fisted a hand into her hair and pulled her head back, forcing her gaze to meet his. He smirked at her cry of pain. "What about you, Emily? Tell me; how old is Declan now?"_

_Emily simply grunted into the cloth that was keeping her screams quiet. She bared her teeth at him when he removed the gag, only to be viciously backhanded across the face. "Ten," she hissed, her face burning. "He's ten, damn it."_

_Doyle cocked his head curiously to the side at her answer. "Huh," he said, catching her frustrated tear with the pad of his thumb. "Maybe you're not the failure of a mother that I thought you were."_

It was as if Emily had resurfaced after nearly drowning. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her vision was blurred - with tears? Maybe. Quietly, almost stealthily, she shot a yearning glance toward the two boys on her right. His eyes closed in contentment, Jack leaned against his father's side, the two of them singing along to the Christmas tune they loved and knew so well. They were happy, lost in the Hallmark moment.

They didn't notice as Emily stole away from the crowd, slipping out of the chapel with frightening grace.

~.~.~

A sickening dread filled Hotch's veins. The performance was over and the service was finally starting; but _where was Emily?_

Jack's hand clasped tightly in his, Hotch exited the chapel, heading straight toward the young security guard at the far end of the foyer. The church was huge; there was no telling where Emily could be.

His stomach churned at the thought.

"Excuse me," Hotch said, when he finally reached the other man. He sounded pathetically out of breath, but at the moment, that was the least of his concerns. "Excuse me, did you by chance see a brunette woman in a dark green dress walk by? She's tall, pale-skinned...her hair would've been curled..." _She's gorgeous._

The security guard gave Hotch a tight yet apologetic smile. "I didn't, sorry."

"That's...okay." Hotch was about to begrudgingly walk away when he remembered. Pulling his wallet out in a newfound hurry, he brandished a picture he kept with him at all times.

It was of Emily, on the night of their engagement party.

"Have you seen this woman?" Hotch asked once more, showing the picture this time.

Barely a minute passed before recognition transformed the other man's features. _"Oh. _Yes, she went right that way, sir," he said, pointing down the hall on the left of Hotch and Jack. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize -"

But the Hotchners had already gone in the pointed direction.

Not that it was of much help. An array of rooms surrounded them, on both their left and right. Carefully, they made their way down the hall, peering hopefully into different sized windows and open doors.

Until, finally...they found her.

Hotch almost didn't see her, sitting all the way in the very front pew of the otherwise empty room. Her shoulders were tensed, her head bowed forward in exhaustion. Her hands were clasped together, her knuckles almost white.

She was praying.

"Daddy, what is Mommy doing?"

Hotch said nothing in response, however; and though Emily kept her prayer to herself, in her mind only, it was as if Hotch could make out her words without even needing to see her lips move. He just _knew_.

Emily swallowed thickly, her gaze dropping to the wood floor of the room she had wandered aimlessly into. She didn't really know how to do this, and if she were honest with herself, she was almost nervous. But she would try.

She had to.

_Hi, God...it's me, Emily. I guess I'd like to start by apologizing. I seem to call on you only in times of need; but I want to rectify that. Not solely for me, but for my family. For Aaron, and sweet Jack. And...for Michael. _The haze obstructing Emily's vision only became more unbearable. _I just want my family to be happy again. Please, Lord...grant me the strength to overcome all the difficulties that have arisen between Aaron and me. Grant me the strength to...well, be strong. I will be forever indebted to you. _Emily opened her eyes, looked around, closed them. She sniffled. _Amen._

Even though Emily could feel the others' presence behind her, she didn't turn around. In her mind, she was still alone, left with only her thoughts as company. It was strangely comforting. And sometimes, a little space was what she needed after all.

Try as he might, Hotch couldn't tear his gaze away from Emily as she stared straight ahead of her, neither saying nor doing anything. He was jolted out of his trance, however, when he felt the tug of a young boy at his sleeve.

Hotch gave Jack a comforting smile. "Yes, buddy?" he whispered, not wanting to disturb the peaceful woman before them.

Jack cast a glance at his mother, then turned back to Hotch. His cute eyebrows furrowed in an expression that made him the spitting image of his father. "Is...is Mommy okay?" he asked worriedly; and what he didn't know was that Emily heard his gentle inquiry and had begun to cry.

Hotch paused for a good stretch of time before nodding, finally. "Yeah," he said, his voice only the slightest bit worn. "Yeah, she will be."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: This chapter was going to be at least double this size, but I wanted to be able to post something today you all, so I made the executive decision to split the installment into two. The next one will be a good one, I promise. <strong>

**Anyway, thank you so very much for reading! Your constant support and feedback are the best blessings I could ever ask for. I will forever be grateful, so _please_, take a quick minute to leave me a review telling me what you think. Nothing fancy is needed; whether signed or anonymous, a couple words or a novel, I treasure every single one!**

**And lastly, for those who don't know: the chapter title, Close the Path to Misery, is a lyric from the Christmas song, 'O Come, O Come, Emmanuel'.**


	20. Happy Endings

**Author's Note: Christmas is finally here! That means gingerbread cookies, shiny ornaments for the tree, love for the entire family, and _much_ more. The gifts on Jack's wish list are not the only things Santa decided to bring with him this year, however; as you'll see in just a second.**

**As always, thank you so much for reading! I sincerely hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

* * *

><p>"Can I wake him up now, Mommy?"<p>

The hushed whisper was the only warning Hotch was given before Jack pounced onto the bed, shaking him awake and screaming the incoherent ramblings of childhood, happiness, and _Christmas_. Hotch let out a tired groan that had Emily laughing as well, before wrapping the young boy into a tight bear hug.

"Good morning to you, too, Jack."

Jack giggled at his father. "Come on, Daddy, come on, get up! I wanna open my presents but Mommy said to wait for you. _And_ she made gingerbread cookies!" he exclaimed, his voice rising in pitch with every overjoyed word.

"Did she really?" Hotch and Emily shared a delightfully secretive glance. "Wow, what a treat. No wonder it smells so amazing in here."

"So come on!" Jack tugged at Hotch's arm, huffing adorable when he didn't budge. "Eat some with me!"

"Alright, alright." In a surge of sheets and blankets, Hotch rolled out of bed and hauled his boisterous son over his shoulder. "Let's go eat some of Mommy's fabulous gingerbread cookies, kiddo."

"Now wait just a minute," Emily said brightly, taking hold of Hotch's free hand before he could walk past. Before he could speak a word in question, Emily's lips brushed against his in a gentle, whispering embrace. She let him deepen the kiss for but a second longer, then pulled away with a placated smile. "Do me a favor?" she murmured alluringly.

"Anything," he vowed, still a little dizzy from the kiss.

Emily teasingly ran a finger over the defined lines of his stubbly jaw. "Don't shave today. I like it."

Jack's persistent giggle met their ears once more. "I like it, too, Daddy."

Hotch indulged them both with a grin of his own. "Then who am I to say no? A consensus has been reached, apparently."

"Now we can open presents?"

"And eat gingerbread cookies, yes." Together, the three of them made their way to the living room and sat down by the large Christmas tree in the corner, Hotch transferring Jack into Emily's arms in order to splash some wear on his face and freshen up. When he returned, Jack already was fawning over his new bike.

"Daddy! Did you see what Santa got me?" he practically squealed. "It's _just_ what I wanted..." He looked up as Hotch sat beside him, watching intently as Emily reached out to hand him another present. His eyes widened sweetly. "That's a _big_ box, Mommy."

Emily toyed with the ribbon on the box Jack was gazing at. "It sure is," she smiled, laughing quietly as she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Hotch stuffing his face with cookies. "This one's from Mommy and Daddy. Do you want to open it now, or do you want to open the other one Santa got you?"

"Santa got me something else?" Jack asked, amazed.

"Of course. You're at the top of his Nice list, after all," Hotch said, swallowing a large bite of gingerbread in the process.

Jack was absolutely incredulous now. "How do you know, Daddy?"

"Well, I'll let you in on a little secret." He lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. "Mommy and I are two of Santa's favorite elves." Jack gasped; and Emily felt her heart constrict at the gratifying knowledge that he was still so beautifully innocent. "But you can't tell anyone, Jack," Hotch warned seriously.

"I won't," the young boy whispered.

"Good." Hotch patted him on the back. "Now, back to your presents."

"I want to open the one you and Mommy got me," Jack said to his father, crawling over to Emily and resting his head on her shoulder. A flurry of curled ribbon and silver and blue wrapping paper revealed a box filled with thirteen brand new books. Jack picked one up, reading the front curiously. "A Series of Unfortunate Events..._oh!_" He turned over to Hotch. "Is this what you were reading to me a long time ago?" he asked excitedly.

Hotch nodded. "You and I read part of the first book a few weeks ago, that's right."

"There are _twelve_ more?"

"Look at it this way," Emily chimed in, "we won't run out of bedtime stories for a very long time," she pointed out. She was caught off guard when Jack flung himself against her chest, wrapping his small arms around her waist.

"Thank you, Mommy," he mumbled against her front, before embracing his father in the same way.

A DVD of the Wiggles from Santa, clothes from Emily, and a stuffed dinosaur from Hotch (to add onto Jack's rapidly growing collection) later, and Jack had run off to his room with his new toys, pausing to grab yet another handful of gingerbread on his way there. Neither Hotch nor Emily could help but laugh contentedly as they listened to Jack chattering away to himself as he ambled up the stairs; they would make sure to play with him soon enough.

But for now, they had earned some time to themselves.

Emily warily eyed the remaining two presents beneath their glittering tree. "Please tell me you didn't get me anything."

Hotch reached for the two gifts, then sidled up behind Emily, kissing her neck as she leaned back against his chest. "That's a little hypocritical, don't you think? Seeing as I'm going to venture out and guess that other gift is mine from you." Slowly, almost nervously, he handed her the present he had gotten her; and then, the rambling began. "I, uh, would've gotten you something else in addition," Hotch sighed, watching as she handled the slightly heavy box with interest and began unwrapping it. "But I...I didn't know what to get you that wouldn't seem pathetically simple, and I didn't have enough time -"

"Aaron." Her quiet, breathless voice rendered him silent. Suddenly emotional, Emily took her bottom lip between her teeth as she lifted the colorful and familiar porcelain fixture from the box.

It was _the_ vase.

Their similar dark gazes met. "How did you...?"

In just a split second, Hotch remembered reaching for the original vase in a fit of undeserving rage, the very vase Emily had loved so much. The sound of porcelain smashing against the wall and floor haunted him for a fleeting moment, before he was forced to shake the memories away. Finally, Hotch gave Emily a gentle smile. "I kept a fragment of the original that had the manufacturing company's name and unit number...and, just my luck, the worn-out, yellowing barcode sticker at the bottom. Let's just say Google is a wonderful thing."

Emily smiled warmly in return, then brought him in for another lazy kiss. "I _love_ it," she whispered against his skin. "Thank you."

"Like I said before, Emily. Anything for you."

"But I don't want or need anything else," she warned.

"Mmmm, I'm not so sure about that."

Emily rolled her eyes playfully. "Just shut up and open your present."

She didn't have to tell him twice; though she found herself wishing he would have put up even the slightest bit of protest because, as he deliberately undid the tasteful paper covering his gift, Emily began doubting her gift choice - and ultimately, herself. "I feel bad that I didn't _buy _you anything, but...I'd had this in mind for a really long time, and I was just waiting for the right time to give it to you. Whether or not today is the right time, I don't know, but..." She downcast her gaze. "I just hope you like it."

The next thing she knew, Hotch was crying.

His shoulders trembled and shook as he caressed the smooth ebony frame, one tear and then another falling onto the pristine glass. "Emily..."

Her head flew up at the sound of his broken voice. _Shit_. "Oh, God, Aaron, I'm so sorry," Emily moaned. "I should've waited, I knew I should've -"

"It's _perfect_." Shutting his eyes tightly as he pulled Emily into his arms, Hotch let her crumple against his chest as he shed tears for them both. His lips finding her ear, Hotch gasped out a sob before whispering two simple words. _"Thank you."_

Emily didn't know what else to say; she didn't know if she could say anything that would adequately sum up her emotions as she watched him take yet another look at the framed black and white picture in his hands.

It was quite possibly Emily's favorite picture. She had taken it one afternoon without Hotch ever knowing, which made the gift all the more sweet, for it captured a perfect moment in time; a time when Hotch had fallen asleep on the couch, a sleeping Michael lying on his chest. The resemblance between father and son was striking.

Almost disbelievingly, Hotch drank in every facet of the picture for one last time before stealing Emily's gaze and staring deep into her watery eyes. "Thank you," he whispered once more, his voice barely audible.

Gently, adoringly, Emily kissed away his tears; and then, she said the one thing they had been meaning to say to one another ever since tragedy had first come into their lives.

"I love you."

Despite the gravity of the moment, Hotch mustered up a small watery smile - and a quiet, weary chuckle. "You beat me to it," he lamented.

But Emily just shook her head. "You never had to say it, Aaron." A hand came up to caress his cheek; he turned his head to kiss the inside of her palm. "I already knew."

~.~.~

After hours on end of playing with Jack, who was currently sleeping after an inevitable sugar crash, a newly refreshed Emily stood in the doorway linking her and Hotch's master bathroom to their bedroom, a towel in her damp hair; and without saying a word to announce her presence, she simply looked on in silence.

Hotch was seated at the foot of the bed, his back hunched as he bent over and pored over some newspaper article or another. An expression of complete and utter concentration was etched deep into his handsome features…but it wasn't his rakish visage that stole the breath from her lungs.

It was his glasses.

Thin-rimmed, black reading glasses with silver on the side…maybe it was because Hotch had somehow managed to initiate the majority of their past embraces, maybe it was because Emily wanted to prove her affection in a way other than simply speaking those three words, or maybe it was because just a glance his direction caused heat to run through her body. But regardless, Emily found herself being drawn forward, all the way until her arms had wrapped around his neck and her lips were molding against his.

Caught off guard, a moan was torn from the back of Hotch's throat as he eagerly deepened the kiss, before he was forced to pull back in pleasant surprise, just the slightest bit disoriented. "Well…" he cleared his throat, a mirthful glint in his dark eyes, "what brought this on?"

Immediately, a deep pink flush colored Emily's cheeks. "I wasn't aware that I need a reason, but, uh…" she bit her lip cutely, "I'll admit, I may have a bit of a weakness when you wear those glasses."

Slowly, Hotch let a smile curve his lips. "And I'll admit; I already knew that." _Oh boy, do I._ Her eyes crinkling at the corners in response, Emily simply looked coyly away; and that was when Hotch noticed it. "Hey…" Taking hold of her hand before she could move away completely, Hotch pulled her so that she was sitting beside him, practically on his lap. The newspaper he had been reading fell to the floor; he didn't care. "Why are you so tense, sweetheart?" he crooned, reveling in the way she readily melted into his arms.

"It's nothi –" But Emily stopped. Who was she kidding? It was as if they had been skirting around the subject since the very beginning. And now that they were finally as close to normal as they would be for a very long time…it seemed as if the moment was right to fix things, once and for all. Emily sighed. "It's Christmas," she said vaguely, looking down at his fingers as they twined with hers. "We're together, as a family…everything is absolutely perfect. Well…" she smiled a little, "_almost_ perfect. And that's just it. There's one more thing we haven't really talked about yet." Her voice remained gentle, light, though Hotch could hear the determination and passion behind her words. "Something I want to talk about and hopefully fix, as soon as possible. A…New Year's resolution, I guess you could say."

"And that would be…?" But he already knew.

Hotch's breathing slowed, though his heart began to swell. Her initial reluctance to speak made complete sense to him now; she hadn't wanted to potentially mar the beautiful day they'd had already with heavy conversation. She couldn't possibly do anything of the sort, he wanted to tell her. Not when she had been the one to make the day so _right_.

Emily met his hard gaze. "The divorce," she answered with a simple whisper – though nothing about their situation was simple.

The lovers just looked at each other for the longest of moments. Unbidden, Hotch thought of the nightmare that had haunted him days earlier. Again, Emily had been dressed in white, but this time, they had been at a church, amongst an immaculately dressed crowd. Emily had been at the altar…he had watched with bright eyes.

He had watched her wed and pledge herself to another man. The horror had caused him to wake in a cold sweat, his eyes burning without abandon until he saw her, lying there beside him – peacefully asleep.

Finally, nodding over to the expanse of their king sized bed, Hotch spoke. "Lie down on your stomach."

Emily blinked, surprised. _"What?"_

He bit back his smirk, then kissed her on the cheek. She was right; it was Christmas, and he was determined to keep their day as lighthearted as possible. "Lie down and we'll talk," Hotch said gently, as if it were every day that he so freely offered to give her a massage. At her confused silence, Hotch huffed out a playfully impatient sigh. "We've got to get rid of the knots in your shoulders somehow, don't we?"

It was an interesting sixty seconds before Emily finally complied, albeit with an air of girlish curiosity. Resting the side of her head against a nearby pillow, Emily felt rather than saw Hotch move off the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he adapted a more comfortable position beside her. She was contemplating how to actually broach the conversation when his hands ran along the curves of her back; and her mind was wiped blank.

The dark-haired pair was silent for a good while, with Hotch being his gentlemanly self and keeping his hands above the fabric of her shirt, much to Emily's dismay; who, in a move of catlike grace whipped herself out of his embrace for but a moment to pull the offending garment over her head. Hotch hid his resulting smile in the silken folds of her hair. And, within the minute, he was back to skillfully kneading the stress from her shoulders, his fingers working magic against her skin.

"So…" Hotch dropped a kiss to her spine. "What was it you wanted to talk about, Emily?"

A husky chuckle slipped past her delicious lips and set his nerve-endings on fire. "I…I don't remember," she murmured, moaning a little as he worked out an especially tight knot.

"Now, now," he said lowly, playfully rebuking her as he moved his hands down to her sides. "I don't want to hear any excuses from you, Mrs. Hotchner, I –"

Unexpectedly, Hotch's rhythm faltered as he realized what he had just said. She _had_ kept his last name…hadn't she?

Emily, however, noticing his sudden stumble, arched into his hands as they brushed against a particularly sensitive spot, and rewarded him with a reverent whisper of his name – just as if nothing had happened. "Believe me, I'm not one for excuses," she continued. "It's not _my_ fault that I'm so easily distracted by you; it's all your fault. I just know you're doing this on purpose, trying to get me off my game…"

He breathed out a laugh. "Now why would I do that?"

"You tell me."

But Emily received no immediate answer, not until a long stretch of time had passed with Hotch staring off into the distance, carefully contemplating his next words. "I think…" He dipped his head until his forehead was resting against the nape of her neck. "I think we both know that divorce means nothing."

Emily felt pinpricks dart through her skin at his words. She swallowed thickly. "I know I do," she assured. "But…what do we do about it? It was finalized in court," she lamented.

Only Hotch noticed that his busy fingers had begun to shake. It was their moment of truth. "So we go back to court and change that."

_Did he mean…_

Emily shut her eyes tightly, her heart ranging from beating like a hummingbird's wings to not beating at all. "There is no quick and easy 'undo' button, Aaron," she whispered.

Without fanfare, Hotch turned her in his arms so that they were face to face. It wasn't his smartest move; she hadn't put on a bra after her shower and she was now deliciously bared to his gaze. By some magnificent twist of fate, however, Hotch was able to keep his eyes on hers.

_You know what I mean, Emily._

He wet his lips idly. "Emily, look at me." She did. "Can we agree that we don't feel the same way about each other as we did then, in the heat of the moment?"

Emily's gaze was nothing but tender. "No," she said frankly.

Hotch practically choked on his tongue. His eyes widened in shock – and maybe even a deeper fear. "W-wait, what –"

"I _never_ stopped loving you, Aaron."

It was a full minute before Hotch could fully process the meaning behind her words. When he finally did, he surprised her with a dark laugh breathed out against the skin of her neck; and in a flash, he had her on her stomach once more. "You scare me when you do things like that, you know," he said slowly, his hands flirting at the waistband of her pants now, "when you say things that I can so easily misinterpret." Without fanfare, he straddled her from behind, smirking when he heard the air whoosh out of her lungs. "You always have to be so damned smart, don't you?"

Emily grinned into her pillow, then yelped when Hotch chided her with a playful pinch. "It's not my fault if you can't keep up with me, Aaron."

"I beg to differ." His hands began kneading her tired skin with renewed vigor. A keening groan was pulled from the back of Emily's throat, which only spurred him on further. "So, about the stress in your back…"

"I believe it's all gone," Emily managed, her lips curved contentedly. "But by all means, continue." Rising her hips at his persistent touch, she allowed him to strip her of her sweatpants, leaving her in only her panties; which just so happened to be Hotch's favorite pair.

…though it seemed as if his 'favorite pair' changed with every new week.

Gradually, Hotch's fingers slowed as they rested on her hips and sneaked downward. The silence that lapsed between them was heavy, but not with tension; with unspeakable emotions and thoughts of how _close_ to normal they really were. If they just reached out the tiniest bit more, then maybe…

Emily's eyes fluttered open as she remembered the entire purpose of their conversation. _The divorce_, she told herself. _We're supposed to be talking about the divorce._

She shuddered slightly. _And Jack_.

"How do we resolve this, though?" Emily asked suddenly. She didn't need to explain what she was talking about; Hotch just _knew_. "And what about Jack? Does…does he…" Hotch's hands stopped their magic completely. "Jack doesn't know we're divorced, does he?" It wasn't a question, so much as it was an almost scared statement.

And Hotch noticed. "I don't think he does, no. He knows that we went through a rough patch. He knows that Michael's…death…put us both in a bad place. And he knows that we argued." _A lot_. "But…he also knows how Haley and I argued, and…I didn't want him to think the same thing was happening again, that he would lose _you, _his mother." He hung his head in something reminiscent to an apology. "Emily, quite frankly, I was too scared to tell him. You understand."

Emily did, even if she wanted to object. To put so much responsibility on his shoulders, and his shoulders alone, to leave him by himself to explain to a beautiful six year old boy that his second mother was doing just what his first had done; it would have been maddening. And Emily knew, deep down inside her, that she would never have let Hotch take on that feat by himself.

_Is that what love is? _she asked herself.

"I just want that divorce to be over with, Emily." Hotch's earnest voice resounded in the otherwise quiet room.

_Yes, _she supposed. _That's love, alright._

"So do I, Aaron." This time, she was the one to voluntarily turn in his arms. It seemed as if they gazed into each other's eyes for hours on end before Emily bent her head, taking her bottom lip between her teeth before pulling him into a deep kiss. Her let her dominate the embrace for as long as she wanted to, yielding to her itching fingers as they hunted across his chest and pulled impatiently at the shirt covering his built frame.

Over the course of their conversation, neither had mentioned marriage, that one inviolable word and promise; but it was obvious that it was on both their minds. As he kissed Emily's pulse point while she raked her fingers through his hair, he vainly wished that the court system could have been delayed somehow, like how Garcia had delayed their transfer and resignation all those years ago; that afternoon when she had let him into her apartment, when they had shared a glass of wine…and _God_, that red blouse she had been wearing.

The fantasies had started soon afterward.

But even without mentioning the m-word, Hotch was certain Emily knew he loved her. And he did, from the bottom of his heart and with every fiber of his being. If it took everything he had, he would shout it from the rooftops. He would show her off, and shower her with gratitude and adoration – the adoration she deserved.

Hotch wanted to prove his love.

He wanted to make her his. Again.

"Emily…" She gasped out as Hotch's lips dropped to her collarbone, sucking greedily. "I love you," he said sincerely, looking up at her through heavy-lidded eyes. "We'll fix this, no matter what it takes." _No matter what it takes_. "And we'll talk about it more, maybe tomorrow or even later tonight. You have my promise. But tonight…tonight, it's Christmas, and I just want to celebrate today with you. I want to hold you in my arms, make love to you, and never let you go." His whisperings shook her to her core. "Will you let me do that?"

"Yes," Emily breathed, her head falling back in pure bliss. Her hands danced along his back, soothing him with her gentle touch. And then, the rest of his clothes had fallen to the floor and -

_"Yes."_

_~.~.~_

"Do you remember last Christmas," Emily's groggy, placated voice echoed in Hotch's ears, "last Christmas, when I surprised you in your office, and told you I was pregnant?"

Hotch pressed a lazy kiss to the corner of her mouth, his heart still pounding as they struggled to fall back to earth after such a glorious taste of paradise. "How could I forget?" He smiled as she snuggled against him, knowing she could feel his voice rumbling through his chest. "You made me speechless, darling."

"In a good way," she remembered fondly, falling back into the perfection of their shared memory.

"In the _best_ way," Hotch amended, smiling sleepily.

Emily tapped a finger against a dimple, giggling as Hotch caught her wayward finger and kissed its tip. "Nothing can top that Christmas," she said finally, sighing. "But this?" she motioned around them in a haze. "This comes really close."

"I would have to agree." Hotch granted them a minute or two of more cuddling before reluctantly pushing himself out of bed; much to Emily's chagrin.

"Where are you going?" A pretty pout downturned her kiss-swollen lips.

He gave her a reassuring smile as he rested against the doorframe, begrudging leaning to reach for the boxers at his feet. "I think I left something on in my office, upstairs. I just want to turn it off before we fall asleep. Give me a minute, babe?"

"Mmmm. Okay." Stretching, Emily sat up in bed, her eyes drooping closed. "I need to brush my teeth anyway. But hurry back."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

While Emily wandered back into the master bathroom, Hotch rushed off to his office, nodding slightly at the faint blue glow that was radiating from the laptop on his desk. Hitting the mouse and illuminating the page proved momentarily detrimental to his vision, but once Hotch grew accustomed to the brightness of the screen in the otherwise dark room, he was able to add the real estate webpage to his favorites bar, saving the nearby, reasonably priced, two story, white-paneled, red-brick house and large backyard for later with just a hint of a secretive smile.

If only Emily knew.

She, on the other hand, was busy smiling at her thoroughly debauched reflection; with her mussed hair, swollen lips, and the love bites peppering her skin. With any other man, Emily would have broken out the makeup then and there. But this was Hotch, her _husband_ - husband, not ex-husband - and she found herself not minding his alpha male tendencies one bit.

They had been one of the many reasons why she had fallen in love with him in the first place - all those years ago.

Sighing sweetly to herself, Emily was opening an overhead cabinet and rising on her tiptoes to reach for a new tube of toothpaste when she touched something plastic and it shifted. And then, it hit her.

Literally.

Reaching for the offending object as it and many others like it fell to her feet, Emily felt her heart leap to her throat. The damned tampons were all over the floor; but that wasn't what made Emily forget how to breathe.

How could it have slipped her mind? Emily's head began to spin as she realized she had missed her last period - and the one before that? No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't remember. At the time, she had chalked it up to post-pregnancy hormones and stress, _so_ much stress. But as she counted back the days, Emily couldn't help but notice that she and Hotch hadn't used a condom - not just tonight, but the time before that, and the time before that. She moaned aloud at their carelessness. Sure, they hadn't used protection during her pregnancy, or in the stretch of time before that, as they had tried for conception.

_But that wasn't a habit to keep!_ she wanted to scream. They were supposed to plan things like this, not just...just...

Against her will but of their own volition, Emily's eyes moved back to the expanse of pristine mirror stretched before her. She couldn't be pregnant.

Slowly, cautiously, Emily lifted up her tee-shirt to take a good long look at her stomach; her taut, flat stomach. No, there was _no _way.

She shivered.

...was there?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong><strong>Thoughts? Please drop me a line if you have the time; there's nothing I love more than hearing your feedback (and cliffhangers, I suppose). Thank you in advance!<strong>****


	21. Invisible

**Author's Note: Here it is! The chapter in which Hotch and Emily _finally_ make their way over to the therapist's office, in which several questions are answered - and several more questions arise. As always, thank you so very much for reading. I hope you enjoy!**

**Also, to my love, raffinit: please don't die when you read this. It's not _that_ angsty, I promise.**

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

* * *

><p>"It's still hard."<p>

Emily glanced up from her feet to meet the therapist's kind and patient gaze. "Some days, _most_ days, I feel like I'm ready to move on, to accept that the past is the past, and to remember and focus on only the good things. And I _know_ all that is possible," she continued, smiling to herself when she felt Hotch grab onto her hand, "especially with Aaron's help."

"I love you," he whispered inaudibly into her ear, oblivious to the therapist seated in front of them.

"But…" Emily sighed, "but there are other days when everything reminds me of Michael, and no matter what I do, I can't get away. It won't stop," she moaned. "I'll wander aimlessly around the house, and no matter what, I'll always end up in his nursery, and…and –"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Hotch's warm voice sliced through the tension.

"I don't want to burden you," she said simply, gazing at him earnestly with her lips slightly parted and with her eyebrows drawn together. "I saw how you reacted when I gave you the Christmas present, the picture." There was a long pause. "We _both_ obviously still have a lot on our chests."

"Do you feel that way, Aaron?" Marissa asked, her head cocked to the side.

Hotch thought about the unspeakable helplessness and weakness he had felt, holding an overheating Michael in his arms. He thought of the scream of pure agony that had been torn from Emily's throat that first night, when they had cried themselves into a stupor they wanted to call sleep. He thought about the days they had thrown insults at each other, hearts pounding with genuine anger – and stubbornly repressed love – as the verbal assault continued.

And then, Hotch nodded.

"Yes." He took in a deep, long breath. "Yes, I feel the same way."

Pen poised at the ready, Marissa observed them for a minute longer before jotting down some quick notes on her yellow regal pad. "And..." her voice took on a gentler tone, "how long has it been since Michael passed away?"

"Three months and seven days."

The answer came from both Hotch and Emily, in unison and without hesitation. Surprised, they met each other's inquisitively emotional gazes; and unconsciously, Hotch's hand tightened around hers.

Marissa said nothing in response, simply nodding instead as she continued jotting down notes. She had seen the scene before her too many times to count, and she knew that the grief and hollowness of the heart would undoubtedly remain for a year - or longer. But the Hotchners were doing everything they could to get by, she noted, and she had a good feeling about them.

She was confident they would make it past the seemingly endless trials and tribulations.

Clearing her throat quietly, Marrisa gave the dark-haired couple a tentative smile. She would brush past their slip-ups for now; all she wanted to achieve at this meeting was getting them comfortable enough to talk freely.

And they were. "Now this, I'm sure, is going to sound like such an elementary question," she began amicably, "but how are you two? Not...as individuals; but together," she explained. When Hotch and Emily remained silent, Marissa's smile changed to something more easy and relatable. "Forgive me. How is your love life?" she prompted.

Hotch bit his lip for but a second, his eyes shining as Emily looked away amusedly. "I, uh...don't think that was ever a problem for us," he confessed.

"Emily?"

"Yeah, I mean..." she licked her lips, "there were the days when we might have...used each other to silence the pounding in our heads, but..." Her voice faded into silence. "But Aaron's right. I don't think we ever stopped loving each other."

"We didn't," Hotch confirmed, sobered now.

"It's one of the reasons we worked so well together, in the field. We _know_ each other. Sometimes, you just don't need words."

"I was just about to say that," he whispered.

Emily smiled almost shyly. "I know."

Something had caught Marissa's attention, however. "'Worked'?" she asked Emily.

"Sorry?"

"You said that in the past tense. I was wondering why."

This time, it was Emily's turn to bite her lip. "I...have not been going to work lately." She didn't need Marissa to ask why. "I'm sure you can relate, with your job; does it ever have a detrimental effect on you after such a profoundly _awful_ appointment?" For a second, the tables were turned, and the therapist nodded in response. "The things you learn, the things you see...one day, it just becomes too much to compartmentalize. And suddenly, it's impossible to remain objective."

The alarm signaling the end of their appointment went off, but Marissa didn't move for the longest of minutes. "You think that's going to happen to you if - and when - you come across a particularly bad case," she said knowingly. A beat passed. "Involving children."

"Yes."

"Have you thought of what you'll do down the line?"

"Recently? No. But..." Emily turned ever so slightly toward Hotch, then said gently, "I'm open to suggestions." His resulting expression was filled with every promise she could ever hope for.

Finally, Marissa checked her watch, relaxing back into her chair in the process. "I believe our time is up," she said, earnestly regretful. "If you two still want to, you can talk with my secretary, Jane, to see about scheduling a second appointment."

Eventually, all three got to their feet, heading toward the heavy oak door that had separated them from the rest of the world for the past hour. But before they could leave, Emily found herself hanging back for just a second more. "Marissa...thank you. You didn't have to do this for us; it's your lunch break, for God's sake, you deserve it." She paused, released a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. "We really are grateful."

"It's the least I could do," the auburn haired woman replied modestly. She gave Emily's shoulder a kind squeeze. "You take care now."

"I will."

"You too, Aaron," Marissa said, patting his back. "And make sure to tell Jack I said hello."

"I will," Hotch said, his eyes soft. "Thank you."

And, smiling at the utmost sincerity she heard in the man's deep voice, Marissa disappeared down the hall, leaving the two lovers to themselves.

~.~.~

"I have to go to work for a couple hours," Hotch murmured as he and Emily drove home. "Finish some paperwork, tie up loose ends, attend an uninteresting budget meeting; you know the drill." He was quiet for a minute. "Or...would you rather have me stay?" he asked gently.

"And have you work doubly hard tomorrow?" Emily gave him an understanding smile. "No...go do your job, secret agent man." Hotch let out a chuckle as they stopped at a red light - the last traffic light before their street -, then leaned over to press a chaste kiss to her lips. Emily smirked. "Though I wouldn't object to you taking me to lunch first."

"Funny, you read my mind again." Slowing the car as he pulled into their white stone driveway, Hotch turned the key in the ignition, relaxing into his seat when the car was finally off. "How about I do you one better?" he suggested. "Tonight, when I get back from work, let's go out for dinner; you, me, and Jack."

Emily's eyes brightened. "He'll love that."

"I know." Together, they climbed out of the car, sharing a knowing glance as they head energetic chattering somewhere close by. "Speaking of which..."

In a split second, the front door flung open and Jack Hotchner leaped into his father's arms with a jubilant cry of _"Daddy!"_

"Hey, kiddo," he greeted, laughing. "You weren't too much trouble for Miss Kate, were you?"

Their spritely young neighbor and babysitter simply smiled. "Oh, no. Jack was a dear, as always."

"Thank you again for coming over on such late notice," Emily said, watching as Kate bustled around the main room, gathering her bags. "Listen, Aaron was about to leave for work, but...why don't you stick around for a little longer, have some lunch with me and Jack?"

"I appreciate the offer, and I'd love to, but I told a friend I'd meet him for a movie, and..." She smiled gratefully, then moved to make her leave.

"Bye, Miss Kate," Jack piped up, still in his father's strong arms.

"Goodbye, Mister Jack." And then, with a wave to both Emily and Hotch, Kate too off at a jog down the sidewalk.

The moment they were left alone, Jack let out an endearing little squeal. "Can I go to work with you today, Daddy? _Please?"_

Hotch gave the boy an apologetic goodbye kiss, setting him on the ground in the process. "I'm afraid you can't today, Jack. Daddy's in a hurry and he's going to be busy with lots of boring work stuff. _But_...how about we see if you can come with me sometime next week?"

"Really?"

"Of course." Reaching by the door for his characteristic black leather briefcase, Hotch was poised to take his exit, his hand on the doorknob - when Jack stopped him.

"Wait! You didn't give Mommy a kiss goodbye," Jack pointed out innocently.

There was nothing innocent about the look in Emily's eyes as she leaned her svelte frame against the door, however. "Yeah, Aaron...you didn't kiss me goodbye."

A darkly handsome smile flirted across Hotch's lips. "That's because I already gave Mommy plenty of other kisses," Hotch told Jack slowly; though his gaze never left Emily's. "But, if I absolutely _must_..."

He swallowed Emily's surprised gasp as he wrapped an arm snugly around her waist and dipped her, his lips on hers all the while.

And then, he pulled away, and was suddenly Agent Hotchner instead of Aaron; though neither Emily nor Jack missed the mirth that colored his expression, or the lipstick stain on the corner of his mouth. "Goodbye, you two."

"Bye bye, Daddy!"

Emily brought a hand up to her still tingling lips. "Goodbye, Aaron."

After Hotch had been gone for a handful of minutes, Emily pulled an increasingly impatient Jack onto her lap. "So, sweetie," she began conversationally, "did you get everything you wanted for Christmas?"

That snagged the young boy's attention. "Uh huh!" he nodded enthusiastically. "Santa got me everything I wanted."

Her breath caught in the back of her throat. _"Everything?"_ she repeated, as his written words came to mind; _But most of all, I really want Mommy to come back home to me and Daddy 'cause I miss her a lot. Please, Santa._

Jack nodded contentedly. "Everything, Mommy."

_Oh, darling._ Emily dropped a kiss to his hair. "I'm glad to hear that," she murmured, a weight slowly disappearing from her shoulders.

"Oh, and 'cause Santa didn't leave any presents for Mikey, I got him something," Jack said matter-of-factly.

Emily cleared her throat to get rid of the lump she knew was growing. "Did you, now? That's very kind of you, Jack. What did you get him?"

"Some of the candy in my stocking."

"And did he thank you?"

Jack turned around in Emily's embrace. "No, Mommy," he said, as if she were the silliest person alive. "Mikey can't talk yet!"

_"Ah,_ you're right. How could I have forgotten?" She rested her forehead against his, her heart warming at Jack's resulting giggle. "You're a sweet, sweet boy, Jack."

"Daddy said we could leave him some flowers." Emily said nothing, just blinked away the burning sensation behind her eyes. "I liked having a baby brother," Jack said suddenly. "Do you think I'll ever have one again? Or a baby sister?"

_Dear God in Heaven._ "Maybe," Emily managed, her throat constricting even more. "Maybe, Jack. Would you like that? Having a little brother or sister?" He nodded emphatically. "Well...we'll see." _We'll see very soon._

_Which reminds me..._

"You know what I just realized, Jack?"

Curious hazel eyes sought hers. "What?"

"Mommy was being silly earlier today and forgot to stop by the corner store to pick up a few important items. Think you can be a good boy and grab your jacket and tennis shoes so we can head out for a bit? We'll even make it a race," she added a second later, appealingly. "The first one to the garage wins."

Jack hopped to his feet, ready to dash off at the drop of a hat. "I like races."

"I know you do. You're on, Mister Hotchner."

~.~.~

Emily couldn't help it; her stomach lurched dangerously as she took in the display of items in front of her, with Jack just a couple steps away. There were so many to choose from, in white boxes, pink boxes, purple boxes, blue. Blindly, she reached out to pull one off the shelf, but drew her hand back before her fingers touched the thin cardboard packaging.

_You have to pick one_, she reminded herself. _You have to know_.

_Aaron deserves to know, too_.

Her eyes widened in panic. It wasn't that she was against the idea of another child; rather, it was the memories surrounding her attack, her near miscarriage, Michael's death that haunted her. She had been so ready to experience all of his firsts, but now, Emily couldn't help but fear that she would inevitably be robbed of another baby's firsts in the near future once more. The heartache, the anger, the beginnings of postpartum depression...it was all too familiar. It was just too much to consider, too much to fathom, when all she wanted to be was a _mother._

Emily smiled blissfully to herself as she remembered how right it had felt to have Michael in her arms.

Didn't she want to experience that again?

"Mommy?" Jack's lilting voice pulled her from the daydreams, both good and bad. He pointed to an item on the shelf opposite to the one she was facing. "Are these the same diapers Mikey used? Oh, and me, what about me when I was really little?"

Emily's smile grew wider as she watched Jack observe the Depends display with interest. "No, sweetheart, Mikey used Huggies - and I bet you did, too. These," she countered, motioning around him, "are for adults, not babies."

"Adults?" Jack wrinkled his nose. "Why would adults need diapers?"

"Well, sometimes, when you get really, really old, your body doesn't work as well," Emily explained; and when she thought the young boy was otherwise occupied, she quickly snatched up a pregnancy test that looked legitimate and promised near one hundred percent accurate results. "And when that happens, and you loose control of some bodily functions, then it's helpful if you wear diapers."

"Are you and Daddy going to have to when you get really old?"

"God, I hope not." For a split second, Emily really believed she was going to make it to the cash register scot-free; but alas, that was not the case. She was grabbing a carton of Neapolitan ice cream from the freezer section - vanilla for Jack, chocolate for Hotch, and strawberry for herself - when the former piped up once more.

"What's that, Mommy?" he asked, rising on his tiptoes to read the label. "Ninety-nine point nine nine percent accurate..." Jack barely got a glimpse of the picture on the box before Emily moved it to her other hand. "How come you need a...a thermo-meter, Mommy? Are you sick?"

"Thermometer, honey," she corrected, swiping her credit card and nodding in acknowledgment to the cashier's sympathetic smile. "And no, baby, I'm not sick, but...you never know. Better be safe then sorry, right?"

"Uh huh." Then Jack grinned. "Can I have some ice cream when we get home?"

_That was a close one_. Emily's sigh of relief was a quiet one. "Sure, baby."

~.~.~

Emily let out a brief moan as she watched the seconds tick by on her phone's timer, her mind wandering places it shouldn't all the while. On a loop, Jack's words from seemingly forever ago echoed in her ears. _"If you still love and miss him, wouldn't Mikey like it if you and Daddy were happy again? Together?"_

Wouldn't he?

Emily had to admit, it made sense - albeit in a twisted sort of way. She _wanted_ it to make sense; she wanted to make Michael happy in any way she could. And besides, she and Hotch _were_ happy now, weren't they? The last few days had been a stark and beautiful contrast to the months of suffering they had endured beforehand. Back in each other's arms, they felt more at home than they did in their own house. There was a sort of bliss surrounding it all...a sort of happiness.

The ticking on her timer continued. Two minutes remaining now.

Emily let her head fall back against the wall behind her. There was something about the situation that seemed so _wrong_, though. For a moment, an overwhelming part of her wished Hotch was there with her, instead of away at work. It only seemed fair to have him there, looking on together as she forced herself to turn the test over and reveal...

...reveal what?

Emily's throat began to constrict as a multitude of outcomes began to run through her head. What if she really was pregnant? Were they ready to risk everything and embark on yet another emotional roller-coaster? Emily's bottom lip trembled slightly. Of course they were. They had been ready for years.

She glanced at her phone. One minute.

But there was something Emily couldn't even bring herself to consider. She knew better than to get her hopes up prematurely, to set herself up for failure; she was well past her prime, she wasn't on fertility drugs, she had pushed her luck too many times.

But just thinking about how she would react if she saw that straight blue line...it was enough to force her eyes shut, her pearly teeth grounding against one another tightly.

That is, until the alarm on her phone went off.

It was a good long moment before Emily was able to reach over and turn the damn thing off. For several beats afterward, the shrill ringing continued to echo in the bathroom as she paced back and forth, the test downturned in her clasped hands. For the entirety of the three minute wait, Emily had felt as if time had completely stopped; as if the hands on the bathroom clock weren't moving at all. But now, it was as if time had just flown by. They weren't ready. _She _wasn't ready. What if they -

Forcing herself to turn the test over once and for all, Emily let out a choked sob as she saw _the_ result. Her hands began to shake; she didn't know what to think.

Above all, she didn't know what Michael would think.

But it was like Hotch had said all those months (had it really been _months_?) ago; come hell or high water, they _would_ be happy. They would find a way. They had to.

It would be the final piece in regaining their puzzling normalcy.

Letting a tear slide down her cheek as she discarded the test and covered it with enough tissues so as not to be discovered by prying eyes, Emily knew; it was time they laid that final piece in place, on hallowed, neutral ground.

It was time Emily enacted her plan.

~.~.~

To say it was late would be an understatement. But Emily would not be swayed. She knew Hotch was still at the office; he would call when he was ready to come home, however later that would be.

Emily just couldn't bring herself to wait any longer. There was only so much staring at the walls one could do; and after nearly falling into a sugar coma after mindlessly eating Neapolitan ice cream with Jack, Emily found herself staring into a mirror at her reflection once more. It seemed as if she was doing that an awful lot lately, but _this time_, she wanted to make it count. For the first time in a long time, Emily would be returning to the BAU bullpen - though not to stay.

It was for this reason that Emily made an effort to look good, to look...alive and well. Red blouse, black jeans, and her trusty black leather boots...if she tried hard enough, Emily could pretend she was once again caught up in her normal working routine.

But today would not amount to be just any day, she reminded herself, reapplying a quick swipe of lipstick. Today would be revealing.

Today would be monumental.

So, scooping a sleeping Jack into her arms and safely securing him in the backseat of her car, Emily drove off - out of the driveway, down the highway, toward the heart of Quantico.

It was when, minutes later, she was pulling into a rare empty space in the Bureau parking lot, that Jack finally awoke, rubbing his tired eyes with small fists. "Mommy?"

"Sweetheart?"

"Where are we?" But before long, he recognized the familiar building, even amidst the darkness of the night. "Are we gonna see Daddy?"

Emily hummed a little, climbing out of the car only to come around to Jack's side and unbuckle his seatbelt. The six year old hopped down beside her. "Hmmm, kind of." She idly fingered the piece of heavy paper that was folded and resting in her jacket pocket. "Not quite."

"What do you mean?"

"We're not going to stay a long time," she explained, walking down the long corridor now. "I just need to leave something for Daddy. I'm not even going to talk to him actually. Or see him, for that matter."

Now Jack was really confused. "How come?"

"Well..let's just say, I want this to be a kind of surprise."

"Oh. Daddy likes surprises."

That made Emily smile. "I know." Hand in hand, mother and son walked forward until they reached those fateful glass doors; at which Emily paused, peering inside with a sort of longing and loss. And then, something caught her eye. Her gaze was drawn toward the conference room where, through the open blinds, she could barely make out Hotch's silhouette as he stood at the front of the room, delivering one final briefing before bringing the work day to a close. She saw them all - Rossi, JJ, Morgan, Garcia, Reid - gathered around him.

She saw one single empty chair, closest to Hotch's.

"Are you going to go inside?"

Both Emily and Jack started as they heard the male voice behind them; but in a heartbeat, Emily had schooled her features and was actually mustering up a smile. "I must be losing my touch. I didn't hear you approach," she told the man. Emily spared one more quick glance toward the conference room, then looked back down at Jack, who was falling asleep on his feet. "No, we probably won't go in," she finally answered. "Though, coincidentally enough, I was just looking for you."

A curious expression donned Anderson's handsome face. "Me? Really?"

Emily nodded. "I was, uh...wondering if and hoping you'd do me a favor."

Anderson watched as Emily pulled a piece of paper from her pocket, paper she was soon pressing into his palm. "Sure."

"Please...give that to Aaron tomorrow morning. Leave it on his desk, or something. You won't have to tell him it's from me. In fact, don't. He'll already know."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have me give it to him now? The team's meeting is almost over," Anderson offered.

"No, I..." Emily lifted Jack into her arms, his head coming to rest on her shoulder. He was really getting too old for this kind of thing, but she supposed she could stretch her muscles just once more. "No. But thank you," she said earnestly.

"No problem." Emily was already moving away from the glass doors when Anderson's voice stopped her. "And Agent Prentiss? Agent Hotchner," he corrected.

"Yes?"

Anderson gave a little, casual shrug; his usual understated fed behavior. "It's good to see you."

"Yeah," Emily swallowed. "It's good to see you, too."

And with that, she made her leave.

As he closed up the meeting, Hotch peered through the conference room blinds at the retreating figure dressed in red. For a split second, he thought it could have been Emily; but he brushed away that theory immediately, chalking up his 'hallucination' to rampant emotions and lack of sleep. Besides, he told himself, if Emily had wanted to drive over, she would have given him a call first.

Wouldn't she?

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thoughts? I'd love to hear what you think, especially with all the events and 'mysteries' (for lack of a better word) surrounding this chapter. No account needed! And thank you in advance.<strong>**


	22. Kryptonite

**Author's Note: So much is revealed and resolved in this monumental chapter! It was really a joy to write, and hopefully it will be a joy to read. This roller-coaster ride is sadly coming to an end soon, but as always, I wanted to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read this story and leave me some feedback. You all are so greatly appreciated.**

**And now, without further ado...enjoy!**

** Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

* * *

><p>If Hotch were honest with himself, he would admit that his heart nearly stopped when he saw the slip of heavy parchment on his desk the next morning. In a flash, he was reminded of that one frightful nightmare that had reduced him to hot, anguished tears; the construction on Pennsylvania Avenue, the billowing of Emily's wedding dress in the wind, her quiet sobbing as she took a single step forward –<p>

This time, however, there was a different address and a different time written on the paper, in her same swooping scrawl. It was an address Hotch knew all too well; he could have made his way there in his sleep.

And he often did.

Looking up as he tucked the note into his pocket after gazing at it for the hundredth time, Hotch took in his surroundings with an almost disconcerting sense of peace. The cemetery was oddly empty, save for one or two people here and there, and the cold winter air bit at the exposed skin of his face, neck, and hands. As he moved forward, he wasn't surprised to find fresh flowers at Michael's grave.

He wasn't surprised to find Emily there, either.

"You came." Emily's voice was soft, reverent even, and she spoke without turning around to see if he really was there; she always could sense his presence, after all.

"Of course I did." Slowly, Hotch knelt to sit beside Emily on the carefully manicured grass. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"No, I -" Their gazes finally met. "I'm just glad you're here," she confessed.

"Honestly? It's...good to be here. That's a sick word to use to describe our situation at the moment, I realize that, but -"

"But it's calm here, and calm is what we need," Emily said, as understanding as always. "I know." Unconsciously, she swept her hand across Michael's marble grave marker, her fingers tracing along the grooves she found there: _James Michael Hotchner. August 27, 2011 - September 22, 2011. Beloved son, brother, and angel._

His gaze unwavering, Hotch caught Emily's hand in his, then brought it to his lips. He peered at her through heavy-lidded eyes, the December sun nearly blinding. "You've always known how to read me," he murmured. "It's like I'm an open book to you."

But Emily shook her head. "I wouldn't say that. Sometimes - especially in the last couple months - I'll turn to you, and have not even the slightest clue as to what storm is brewing behind your eyes. But...I'd like to think I've always known what you've needed."

"You do," he said matter-of-factly.

"Hmmm?"

"It's always been you."

That made Emily smile. "You've always been such an inherently sweet man."

Hotch kissed her nose this time. "Be that as it may, I've never been able to read you."

"Really?" Her doe eyes were wide with a mixture of curiosity and doubt. "But, Aaron, before we were married - even before we were dating - I always felt that I wore my heart on my sleeve whenever I was around you." She smiled sheepishly. "You've always been my weakness."

Hotch shook his head, chuckling ruefully all the while. "You know, we all make that promise to abstain from profiling one another; but we all do it, eventually. You, on the other hand...you were always the one person I could never figure out, no matter how hard I tried." A beat passed. "And I tried my hardest."

"Yet you still decided to ask me out on a date," Emily teased.

"Well, the Emily Prentiss enigma was what drew me toward you in the first place," he tossed right back. "That, and your compassion, your independence, your beauty - both internal and external."

"My hot bod?"

"Something like that, yes." He wet his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You've always been my weakness, too, you know. Sometimes I think that I'm never myself when I'm around you; but then I realize, you just bring out the best in me."

Emily's playful smirk morphed into a warm, easy smile as she toyed with the ring on his finger. "You're being sweet again," she practically chided.

This time, however, Hotch was serious. "I haven't been very deserving of that title lately. Emily, there are some things that I've said to you..." His voice broke. "I'm so sorry. You don't deserve that. You deserve nothing but the best."

Emily was the one to deliver the kiss this time, to Hotch's jaw. "The past is the past, right?" she said simply. They both stole a glance toward the ground beneath which their precious son rested.

Hotch almost felt like crying. Instantly, thoughts of what had probably been their worst fight came back to him in a flash. The things he had told her...they made him sick.

_Emily's eyes gleamed with hatred. "You tell me I'm the strongest woman you know; then you go around and treat me like a good for nothing coward for turning my back on you."_

_"So you admit it!" Hotch scoffed. "Look, Emily, I get it. You were born into a rich family, richer than my family could ever dream of being. You always got what you want; you're entitled. That's great," he spat, "that you don't need anyone to define who you are. You don't need anyone to depend on. But there are people who depend on you." He forced her gaze to his when she turned away. "What am I supposed to tell Jack, huh? What am I supposed to tell Jack when he's crying out for you but you're not there?"_

_Emily was livid, her fists clenched at her sides. "That's great, Aaron. That really shows how much a man you are, that you're so willing to use your son against me."_

_"Oh, so he's just _my_ son now?"_

_Her hand flew out and she slapped him hard across the face. "Go to hell, Aaron."_

_But Hotch caught her hand in his and yanked her forward. "Not if I have to see you there, I won't."_

Yet, here she was now, giving him a free pass, a golden ticket; treating him so unbelievably well when he wouldn't have blamed her to do just the opposite. "I love you," he gasped.

"As I love you. Which reminds me..." Emily let out a contemplative sigh. "Remember on Christmas, when I told you I love you? I didn't just say that because the moment was right, or because I felt obligated to. I _meant_ it." She gave his hand a squeeze, then showed him hers. "You see this ring?" The eighteen karat diamond shone brilliantly in the sunlight. And once again, Emily smiled, almost sadly this time. "I don't ever, _ever_ want to take it off."

Overwhelmed, Hotch pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin. She was an incredible woman; and while they had established that they were neither of them was to blame - or at least, that they were _equally_ to blame - for the situation they had gotten themselves into, Hotch couldn't help but berate himself for treating her otherwise.

Finally, he spoke, his voice just the slightest bit hoarse. "There's something I need to tell you," he murmured.

"Yes?"

Hotch cleared his throat, wondering how to broach the subject. "The night after we made love the first time...do you remember it? I had slipped out to take a shower; you and Jack were in the bedroom, talking." He sighed. "I heard every word you said." _You two are my heart._ When Hotch worked up the nerve to gauge her reaction, however, he noticed something interesting. "You're not surprised. You knew?"

"I had my suspicions." Emily leaned back against his chest. And she smiled. "I'm not mad in the slightest, if that's what you were about to ask."

"How did you know?" Hotch teased, making her laugh. He sobered in a heartbeat, however. "Something you told Jack that night just _stuck_ with me. You were talking about the house, and how you hated it because it reminded you of...so I began to think. And, now is a time for truth, and while I initially wanted to keep this as a surprise, it's too important and it _needs_ your input."

"Honey, you're rambling," Emily crooned concernedly.

"I've been looking for a new house, Emily."

"I -" She stopped. "You what?"

"I found a house I'm almost certain you'll love, and, if I'm right and you do love it, I think..." he gave her hand an affectionate squeeze, "I think we should make an offer.

Emily was speechless. "Really?" she breathed.

Hotch smiled into her hair. "Really. Sweetheart, it's beautiful. It's two stories, with red bricks, cream colored shutters...Jack would love the backyard. It's reasonably priced, too. And there's just something about it...there's something about it that really screams _home_."

Emily let her mind wander for a while, falling into the daydream of moving into a new house, a new home. Something continued to persistently niggle at the back of her mind, however, and it wasn't until Hotch mentioned the patio at the back of the house that it _clicked_. Her reminiscent smile was once again flirting on her lips when she spoke. "Do you know what you just described?" Hotch was silent. "You just described _our_ house, Aaron."

"I...didn't even realize it." But he was smiling.

Emily breathed out a quick chuckle. "You're not the only one who has been doing some thinking," she said eventually, after a cold breeze rippled through the cemetery, creeping under their coats. "Unless you really want to move, Aaron, I don't think we should," she said with sudden clarity. "It's misplaced blame, you know. Thinking about it now, it makes sense that I wanted to pinpoint the house as the source of my troubles, when in reality, the house was perfectly fine." Their gazes met, and Hotch bent his head to give her a lazy kiss. "We bought our house right before we got married; that was only a little more than a _year_ ago. Jack loves this house, he loves the neighborhood. To uproot again, and spend money that we shouldn't have to spend on moving..."

Hotch held her closer when her voice faded away. "You want to stay," he said; and it wasn't a question, but a fact. His eyes shone with indescribable emotions.

Finally, Emily nodded. "I do. I'll admit, the prospect of moving into a new home was definitely appealing, and the fact that you took the time to look for a house and were so willing to make an offer...I'll say it again, you're such a sweet man."

"You know I'd do anything for you, Emily."

"I know." They were quiet for a long, lovely minute. And then: "I'm really ready, Aaron." Emily's voice was quiet, yet so very passionate. "I'm really ready to...to move on."

And just like that, a huge weight was lifted off their shoulders. Not for the first time that day, Hotch felt his eyes begin to sting. "You really are the strongest woman I know," he whispered into her ear, the winter wind carrying his words to the heavens as well. "Emily, sweetheart..." he sighed shakily, "I'm so proud of you."

"Yeah, well..." Her resulting smile was watery; yet Hotch had never seen her look so radiant. "I'm proud of you, too."

Hotch's grip on her hand tightened as he cocked his head in a direction that was far away from where they were now; but not before leaving Michael with a loving, parting glance, and a heartfelt prayer. "Let's go home," he said - and not necessarily to Emily. The words met her ears and warmed her heart, but instead of moving from her position beside her son's grave, she merely stroked her thumb along the arch of Hotch's hand, and then let him go.

"Give me a minute?" she asked tinily.

Hotch gazed at her carefully, wishing she'd be okay; and then he nodded. "Of course."

When mother and son were finally left alone, Emily moved closer to the grave marker, her fingers tracing over the engraved words once more. The voice that slipped past her parted lips was softer than any in the world. "Thank you, my little one," she whispered, her words for Michael only. "If I've ever done anything to disappoint you...I'm so sorry. But there's something I need you to know. The one month you blessed me and your father and brother with, that was easily the best month of my life. I think about you every second of every day, and...somehow, I feel as if you're looking down from heaven and protecting your family as well. Why? Because you've helped me find my way back to the man I love and always have loved; your father. And for that..." she cleared her throat, "for that, I will be forever grateful. I hope you know that I will love and treasure you forever, Michael."

Emily was about to say goodbye when one final thought came to mind. "And one last thing...another reason why I know you've been looking down on me, and holding me together." She leaned in close, pressing a kiss to her palm and then to the smooth grey marble. "I want you to be the first person to know..."

"...you're going to be a big brother, Michael."

And with that, and one last 'I love you', Emily tore herself away from her son's final resting place, and made her way to Hotch, who had been waiting for her, blissfully unaware.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Thank you sincerely for taking the time to read. If you have the time, please leave a review; no matter short or long, signed or anonymous, they are the best motivation and inspiration for me, and I truly treasure them.<strong>

**Only one more chapter remaining! Let me know if you think I should write an epilogue.**


	23. Full Circle

**Author's Note: T**o those of you who have stuck with me throughout this roller-coaster ride, I cannot thank you enough. I truly understand how tough this story has been, but I believe you all will be pleased with this last chapter. Never forget: y********ou guys are the best, and a lot of this could not have been done without your support and feedback.****

****Without further ado...enjoy!****

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

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><p>Emily gave Hotch a luminescent smile over the rim of her wine glass as he took her slender hand in his much larger one. All around them, other couples sat hunched close together, their conversations merging together to constitute the hushed background noise in the cozy and warm French restaurant; but the dark-haired lovers remained in their own private little world, focused on nothing but each other.<p>

Hotch brought her hand to his lips, ignoring his dinner for the meantime. When he spoke, his voice was low, husky; maybe even the slightest bit dreamy. "New Year's was nice," he said against her skin.

"It was," Emily agreed, running her thumb across his lips slowly, and laughing when he caught it between his teeth. "New Year's Eve was nice, too."

"Jack was beyond himself," Hotch chuckled.

"Oh, believe me, I know." Emily's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Again, I want to know where he gets his energy, so I can get some for myself."

"He very much enjoyed his glass of apple juice - oh, excuse me, I mean his glass of _champagne._" Hotch took it upon himself to make Emily laugh as many times as possible; her laughter was much too enchanting to ever pass up. "I finally told him we'd find a way to take him to Times Square next year, so he can see the ball drop for himself."

_"Ah_, so that's why he came running up to me, yelling, _'Daddy is the best ever!'_" Emily's expression softened as she gazed at the handsome man before her; the man she knew would do anything and everything for his family. "That boy is much too spoiled for his own good."

"You're telling me?"

"Touché." Emily indulged him with a bite of her _scallops provencal_, then sighed contentedly when he gave her a kiss before pulling away. "I, uh...made a New Year's resolution, if you're interested."

"Another one?" Hotch teased; but the look reflected in his eyes was earnest and serious. Emily nodded. "Tell me," he implored.

"I told myself that you're right; every once and a while, I need to put myself first, and take care of _me_. So I searched my heart and realized that there was one thing I wanted more than anything else." Emily sought his darkened hazel gaze, humming a little as Hotch ran his fingers over her sensitive palm. "And that's you, Aaron," she said, just the slightest bit breathless. "I vowed to find a way to be by your side for every day of the upcoming year - and hopefully, for every year that comes afterward. _That's_ my resolution."

Hotch was silent for a long moment, contemplating his next actions. It had been on his mind for the entirety of the three months they had been separated. No woman had ever made him feel this way, so completely head over heels and at peace. He wanted nothing more than to make things better again.

And as he toyed with Emily's fingers, and then her ring, he knew it was time.

"That's funny," he said after a while, his voice so delightfully smooth. "My New Year's resolution was nearly the exact same as yours."

Emily cocked her head to the side, gazing curiously. "'Nearly'?" she echoed.

"Nearly," Hotch repeated. "Because I don't just want to spend every waking minute with you," he slipped off her ring, "I want to do so as husband and wife."

Emily blinked, took her bottom lip between her teeth to bite back her jubilant smile. "So...what are you saying, Aaron?" she asked sweetly; though she already knew.

"I'm saying that, even though these last few months have been the most trying of our lives, we persevered and came out even stronger - because of each other. I'm saying that I apologize for my misplaced anger, that I appreciate everything you have taught me about myself, and that I thank you for loving me when I felt truly unlovable. I'm saying that _I_ love_ you_..." Hotch held the ring out between them, "and I'm asking you to marry me."

Emily didn't realize she was crying until Hotch swept her tears away with his thumb. "I was under the impression we already were," she teased, though her voice cracked. "It certainly feels like it."

Hotch's heart skipped a beat. "Paper is paper, right?" he said lightly. He couldn't remember how many times they had said or thought that phrase; but it no longer mattered, not when they were _so_ close to -

"And if I say no?" Emily gazed at him intently.

"I would undoubtedly start crying right then and there."

But Emily simply smiled. "Save your tears," she whispered; and in an instant, his lips were on hers, gifting her with the sweetest and most delicately passionate of kisses, a kiss that Emily returned between pants. "Yes, I'll marry you," she gasped out. "_Of course_ I'll marry you, Aaron. There's never been anyone for me but you, you know that. You complete me."

"Just as you do me." Hotch's resulting smile was equal parts watery and overjoyed. He glanced downward pointedly at the ring he had placed back on her finger. "Believe me, I would've gotten you another ring, but -"

"But you value your life, and you knew that if you spent a ridiculous amount of money on me _again_, I would probably have found a way to physically harm you," Emily interrupted, all on one breath.

And then she grinned.

Hotch gave a deep laugh. "Sure, we'll go with that." Finally turning back to his dinner, he swallowed a generous forkful of his_ coq au vin_ and a sip of white wine before speaking once more, Emily's hand still in his.

"Let's go to the courthouse tomorrow."

Emily's eyes shone brightly. "I'd like that," she said.

"And afterward, maybe on the weekend, we could have a small ceremony, just us and a couple others - if that's what you want."

Emily gave him an encouraging nod. "Aaron, honey...I'm not the only person in this relationship. It's so endearing that you want to run everything by me. But if there's something _you_ want...tell me."

Hotch leaned in close until their foreheads were touching. "I'll tell you what I want," he said, for her ears only. "I want to take you home...and lay you down on our big bed," he licked his lips, "and show you just how much I love you. Does that sound okay?"

_Heaven help me._ Emily's breathing suddenly became heavy. "Yeah," she whispered, unable to say much else.

His smile could only be described as sultry. "Good. Now...our ceremony," he continued. "Our backyard would be big enough. Or, well...you know Dave. I have the feeling his feelings would be seriously hurt if we didn't consider _his_ yard."

Emily smirked. "He is the host with the most, after all."

"Yes, exactly."

A beat passed.

"Aaron, does..." Emily swallowed, "does the team even know we...divorced?"

"No," he answered after a while. "At least, I don't know if they do. Dave does. But everyone else...they're profilers," he saids simply.

Emily let that sink in. "They'll have questions."

"And we'll have answers."

That made her smile. "So...we'd invite them to this ceremony of ours. JJ would bring Will and Henry, and Henry and Jack could spend time together. But who else do we invite? Marissa, maybe?"

Hotch nodded, lost in thought. "Maybe Kate?"

"Maybe," Emily agreed; and in a second, her smile was back. "I'm already so excited. Not just for the obvious reason," she said, touching her ring. "But I'll get to see everyone again, and it'll be the perfect time to announce -"

_Oh._

Somehow, Hotch knew Emily wasn't referring to their previous divorce or their newfound engagement. "Announce what?" he asked; but the hint of a smile that touched his lips did not escape Emily's attention.

_Did he know?_ she wondered, before realizing that it really didn't matter. She didn't feel the slightest bit nervous or afraid; rather, she felt completely and thoroughly at ease. "There's something I need to tell you," Emily eventually revealed, their gazes locked. "Aaron, I..." She took a deep breath, released it.

And then, she leaned across to leave a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"I'm pregnant, Aaron."

Even though he had guessed such, Hotch still felt his eyes fall shut at her admission. Saying the words made it real, so real; and he couldn't be happier.

Something about his expression gave him away, however. "You knew?" Emily asked, suppressing the breathless laughter bubbling in her throat.

Mirth glinted in Hotch's eyes as he recounted a conversation they'd had just days earlier; a conversation remarkably like this one. "I had my suspicions," he quoted; and Emily's beautiful laughter broke free. "Jack, uh...Jack let slip that Mommy had bought a thermometer because she wasn't sure if she was sick or not. My curiosity was piqued; I didn't find a thermometer in the bathroom, but what I _did_ find was a recent receipt from that store down the street." He brushed a curl from her face. "And then I found the test."

Emily bowed her head, her face slightly flushed. "God, Aaron, I would've told you sooner -"

"No, no," he said affectionately. "I knew you would tell me when you were comfortable, and that was all I wanted." He brought her chin up with a single finger, then framed her face with his hands. "You do want this, right?" he asked, his heart so unspeakably heavy with hope - and adoration.

This time, it was Emily's turn to wipe Hotch's tears. "I told you," she said gently. "I am so ready to move on, and have a future with you. _Yes," _she breathed, "yes, I want this. More than anything in the world."

"Me, too," Hotch managed, his voice thick and his throat tight. "Oh, Emily..."

"I know," she said, nodding, their dinner long forgotten. "Aaron, I know."

He covered her hands with kisses. Then: "We're going to have a baby," he said in awe, with just a tinge of disbelief coloring his tone. His heart pulled him back to a moment so strikingly similar, exactly a year ago; but this time, all he felt was intense, all-consuming happiness, and maybe even...

...maybe even closure.

_Thank you, Michael. You've made Daddy proud._

"Yeah," Emily said, equally overwhelmed. The expression she gave her husband - for, in her world, he had never stopped being her husband - was the epitome of unadulterated love. "We're going to have a baby," she echoed.

And through the myriad of emotions bringing new tears to her eyes, Emily realized one thing. _She couldn't wait._

She couldn't wait to be a mother again.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: I have this overwhelming urge to say something profound. As a writer, words should come easily to me, but at this moment, no words can begin to describe how wonderful a time I've had writing this story. It's been hard and so very emotional, but I feel like I've learned a lot and matured in the process. I can only hope that you've enjoyed this roller-coaster ride as much as I have. <strong>

**Please...do not hesitate to leave me a review, even if you haven't before! I would love to know what you think, no account needed. Your encouragement is what got me through each and every chapter, and for that, I am so incredibly grateful. **

**But remember...this story isn't complete yet. Stay tuned for the epilogue!**


	24. Epilogue: All This and Heaven Too

**Author's Note: **Well, this is it. The end of the line. Like I said earlier, thank you for your continued support and your constant stream of advice and feedback. The outpouring of reviews I got for the last chapter was amazing, and it really makes me so happy to know that you all have enjoyed something I've written. You, the readers and reviewers, make my efforts worth it. So thank you.****

****And without further ado...the very last installment of _If That Mockingbird Don't Sing. _Enjoy!****

**Disclaimer in Chapter One!**

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><p>Emily woke to the sound of crying. She hadn't been sleeping, not really; one hour here and there did <em>not<em> constitute as sleep, a fact that she now knew all too well.

The crying continued.

Hotch groaned long and low into his pillow before rolling to his side to give Emily's shoulder a consoling squeeze. "It's my turn," he murmured groggily, propping himself up on his elbows.

But Emily was already up and out of the bed. "Don't worry about it," she said, giving him a sleepy smile. "I've got her."

Hotch blinked, momentarily stunned. "Are - are you sure? Em, sweetheart, you're exhausted."

"And you're not?" Padding quietly to the opposite side of the room, Emily's smile only grew when she lifted her still crying daughter into her arms. "Hi there, beautiful," she cooed, bouncing the baby girl gently. "Shhh, everything's okay."

Hotch smiled as he watched Emily drop a kiss into the newborn's smattering of downy, dark hair. "You're sure you don't want me to take her?" he offered once more.

She nodded, her gaze never once moving from that of the one month old in her arms. "I'm sure. Especially because I think little Miss Avery is hungry." Both parents managed a laugh as Avery squirmed, burying her face in her mother's chest.

"Looks like it," Hotch said amusedly, yawning discreetly; though not discreetly enough to escape Emily's attention.

"Go to bed, Aaron," Emily said softly, as Avery's crying subsided, only to be replaced by a fussy little whine caught in the back of her throat.

"Okay," he finally relented, with one last affectionate glance toward his wife and daughter; but as he heard Emily's hushed whisper of _"let's go for a little walk, Avery, so Daddy can go back to sleep,"_ the sleep he coveted never came. Instead, he let his mind wander.

Having Avery differed completely from having Michael. Conception hadn't been a problem for them; even without fertility medication. The entirety of Emily's pregnancy had been completely void of scares...all except for one. Whereas Michael had been born weeks after his initial due date, little Avery had been born prematurely. Even now, Hotch could remember the look of horror he had seen in Emily's eyes when her water broke all too soon. He knew what she had been thinking, for her thoughts were the same as his; _not again, God please. Not again._

In the end, however, Avery's premature birth only resulted in her parents being gifted with their baby girl a month early, on a balmy day in the middle of July.

Hotch smiled as he closed his eyes. It had been the most wonderful day. He had never seen anything as heart-stoppingly beautiful as his daughter, with her big brown eyes, her mother's nose, her father's dimples. Their long eyelashes and pale skin. She was perfect.

Everything was perfect.

~.~.~

Emily sighed contentedly as she watched Avery nurse through sleep-laden eyelids. Somehow, mother and daughter had wandered into the nursery, now painted pale pink instead of baby blue. As Emily sank into the rocking chair in order to coax Avery back to sleep, she couldn't help but feel immensely satisfied - and grateful.

"You really were hungry, weren't you?" Emily murmured, rubbing Avery's back after she finally finished suckling. They continued rocking, back and forth. "Only one month and you've already grown so much," she said affectionately. "My little girl...I love you more and more with every second that passes."

Avery looked up at her mother in awe, still whimpering tinily. Her fussing stopped, however, when Emily stood and rested her against her shoulder; and her curious eye caught something on the far wall.

"What is it, baby?" Emily asked, as a small chubby fist lightly tapped her chest. Avery made a sweet, impatient gurgling sound until Emily followed her inquisitive gaze. "Oh, you want to look at our pictures?" She strode forward until they were face to face with the many black and white portraits clustered together. Emily touched one of the pale yellow frames. "There's your big brother, Jack, sweet pea. He loves you very, very much; he told me. He's lots older than you, but he pinky promised he'd always watch our for his baby sister."

"And this is...this is your big brother, Michael," Emily whispered, moving onto the next frame. "He is - he was a very handsome boy, wasn't he? In fact, he looked a lot like you; the same eyes, the same nose," she tickled Avery's tummy, "the same adorable dimples."

Avery gave her mother an all too familiar gummy smile, and Emily felt her heart melt.

"Mikey's...in a better place now, but I _know_ he loves you very much, too." Avery began wriggling excitedly in Emily's safe embrace, and seconds later, Emily felt rather than heard Hotch come up behind her. She wasn't surprised in the least that he hadn't fallen back asleep. "And _this_...well, Avery, you know who this is," Emily said, motioning to another portrait. "It's Daddy; you know, the strong man with the big heart who smells nice and would do anything to protect you."

Wordlessly, Avery was placed in Hotch's arms. "That's me," he said gently, cradling his daughter's small body with his two large hands. His eyes were soft and warm as he gazed down at her, his amazing little bundle of joy.

Emily couldn't prevent her grin; and she didn't want to. "Oh, it looks like Daddy's smitten, Avery," she said, her voice hushed and sweet.

Hotch returned her grin with a crinkly-eyed smile. "She's got me wrapped around her little finger," he murmured lovingly. "Her tiny, tiny finger." One by one, he left a kiss to each and every one of Avery's minuscule digits. And then, he directed his daughter's attention toward one of the last single portraits adorning the wall. "Look how beautiful your mother is, pumpkin. You look almost like her carbon copy; I bet you're going to grow up exactly like her." He chuckled. "And then I'll have to fight to keep the boys away."

Emily rolled her eyes, but Hotch knew how much affection was behind the teasing action. "Hopefully not _exactly_ like me," she amended, a tinge of seriousness coloring her lilting voice.

But Hotch was adamant. "No, _exactly_," he insisted, his lips pressing against her temple. "I don't want you to think for even a second that there's something wrong with you," he said, and the words seemed to rumble from his chest to hers. "You're perfect, darling."

Emily really wanted to respond with some snappy, sarcastic support; but the look in his eyes caught her around the heart and made her breath catch in the back of her throat. "Again," she said lowly, almost huskily, "how many times do you want me to tell you that you are the sweetest man in the history of the earth?"

"Ah, but I think you're forgetting Jack in that list," Hotch said, as Jack came ambling into the nursery rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What's up, buddy? How come you're awake so early?"

Jack buried his face in Emily's side, smiling tiredly when she wrapped him in her arms for a warm hug. "I dunno, but I heard...I heard Avery crying. And then I heard Daddy walk across to the nursery, and I just wanted to make sure..." Emily kissed his cheek, "I just wanted to make sure she was okay."

Hotch felt his throat constrict. "That's very kind of you, Jack," he said seriously. "Yes, your little sister's fine, don't worry. She was just hungry." Hotch knelt so his son could take a good look at the fussy girl nestled in his arms. "See?"

A relieved, toothy grin took the place of Jack's previously weary smile. "Okay." He paused. "Daddy, Mommy, can I hold her?"

Neither parent had a moment of hesitation. "Of course, sweetheart," Emily said, walking him over to the rocking chair. Once he was settled in, she took Avery from Hotch's arms and slowly, gently placed her into the careful embrace of her brother. "Make sure you hold her head up; yes, just like that. And hold her to your chest..."

Hotch nodded. "Good job, son."

But Jack wasn't listening. Instead, his gaze was focused on that of his sister; who had stopped all squirming the moment she had been placed on his lap. "She's so...little," he breathed in awe; and neither Hotch nor Emily could forget that he had said the exact same thing when seeing Michael for the first time.

But this was different, they reminded themselves. So beautifully and perfectly different.

"She is," Emily agreed. "But you know what else? She likes you."

"Really?" Jack's eyes were bright, even in the dimly lit room. "How can you tell?" he asked excitedly.

"She's falling asleep already," Emily said. "She knows she's safe when she's around her big brother, because she knows that you love her very much."

"I do." And then he yawned.

"Looks like Avery's not the only one who's falling asleep," Hotch cracked. "Come on, buddy," he said after Jack had held Avery for a while longer. The image of his son holding his daughter was one he would treasure for the rest of his life. "It's time to go back to bed."

"But I want to stay here with Avery," he protested weakly. Both parents could tell that his eyelids were already drooping shut.

Emily smiled. "She's asleep," she pointed out; and miraculously, the words Emily spoke were true. The one month old girl was out like a light. "Tomorrow's another day, Jack. I'd bet Avery would love to spend all of tomorrow morning with her big brother. But you both need your rest." Her hand came to rest on his shoulder. "I'll tell you what. How about we let Daddy take Avery back to our bedroom, and I go with you to tuck you back into bed?"

Jack deemed this acceptable, after giving Avery a goodnight kiss on her forehead. In the meantime, Hotch was thankful for the moment alone with the newborn, a moment to share his musings and gratitude with the girl who had brought light back into his and Emily's lives.

Walking her back to his and Emily's bedroom, Hotch gently placed Avery into her crib, smiling softly when he placed her favorite - she already had a favorite - stuffed animal, a grey and pink plush elephant, close by. Dropping a kiss on his sleeping daughter's nose, Hotch took a minute to simply gaze at her, his heart feeling as if it would surely burst the longer he watched her; the steady rise and fall of her small chest, the unconscious wiggling of her toes here and there, the gentle little huff of air she gave off when she was settled into her baby blankets.

"Daddy loves you so much, Avery," he whispered into the dark room, crouched down by the side of the crib. His face was pressed up against the sturdy white bars that kept his daughter safe. "So very much. I'm so happy that Mommy and I had the privilege of welcoming you into our family. We..." he swallowed, "we had a rough couple of months before you came along, but the moment Mommy and me found out she was pregnant with you...it was as if everything was better again. You and your brother Jack...and your mother; you three are my heart," he said, quoting words he had once overheard Emily say, during a rougher time.

Finally, Hotch stood. "Thank you, pumpkin. For so much; for everything."

He had been so enthralled by the sweet baby girl that he hadn't noticed Emily come into the bedroom. But when he turned around to move to their bed, he was pleasantly surprised to find Emily already lying beneath the covers, waiting for him with a peaceful, loving smile.

If Emily had heard any part of Hotch's conversation with Avery, she didn't bring it up. Instead, she greeted him with a chaste kiss to his lips when he climbed into bed beside her. "Yesterday was a good day," she whispered into his ear, snuggling up against his side and reveling in the warmth and safety his arms provided for her.

Hotch glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. Two thirty-seven, it read. So it was already early morning; a new day. "Yeah," he finally agreed. "Yesterday _was_ a good day."

"I have the feeling tomorrow - I mean, today - will be just the same," she said; and Hotch didn't mistake the wistful tone that colored her voice. "At least, I hope so." Hotch was silent, until he felt Emily's gaze seeking his in the darkness. "You...you know what today is, don't you?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat, shut his eyes for a while.

It was Michael's first birthday.

Or, at least...it would have been.

Surprising each other, however, the looks on both Emily's and Hotch's faces were not sad. Instead, they were reminiscent; they had long since learned to move past the terrifying memories and focus on the beautiful ones.

"Can you believe it's really been one whole year?" Hotch asked conversationally, his voice genuinely curious. Lines creased his forehead at the thought; on one hand, it made him wonder how they would have celebrated with their son, but on the other, it gave him a sense of satisfaction to know that he and Emily had been strong enough to make it this far.

"Yes but no," Emily said eventually. "If you think about it...I was pregnant with Avery for eight months. Michael had passed away around three months before that...eleven months give or take a couple days, and you get a year." She shook her head in awe. "It's still unbelievable in a sense, isn't it?"

"Yeah." _He would've been so big already,_ Hotch wanted to say. But instead, he listened as Emily murmured something to herself, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"I miss him, Aaron."

He kissed her cheek. "I miss him, too, darling."

When they looked into one another's eyes, Hotch noticed a passion in Emily's that he had seen many times before. "You know...you know religion has always been hard for me," she said after a beat, and Hotch knew better than to assume this was a meaningless non sequitur. "But even when I've felt like no higher power could ever bring me to salvation, even when I've felt like the evil in our world outweighs the good...I've always believed there's a Heaven."

"Because where else would Michael be?" Hotch whispered, nodding as he realized what his wife was trying to say.

"Exactly. I really believe there's a Heaven, and I...I believe Michael is there, looking down on us, protecting us." Emily let Hotch pull another cool cotton sheet over her frame. "You said it yourself when Avery was born. What did you say?"

"I said...I said, 'I can't get over it, how beautiful she is. She's our miracle.'"

"Our miracle," Emily repeated. "Any number of things could have gone wrong with my pregnancy, but nothing did. Even with Avery being a premie, she was perfectly healthy." _Thank God_. "Michael protected his baby sister from everything that threatened her at that moment. And that's something only a guardian angel can do." She sighed, shaking her head once more. "It sounds crazy even to me...but I really believe Michael was looking down on us that day," she said one final time.

Hotch simply held her tighter to his chest, smiling into her hair as she tucked her head underneath his chin. "It's not crazy," he whispered. "I'd like to believe that's true."

"Me, too." Emily breathed in Hotch's telltale comforting scent, and was almost immediately lulled to sleep. "But really, you're right," she murmured. "I still can't get over how beautiful Avery is."

"She's pretty perfect," Hotch said softly. "We did well, wouldn't you say?"

Emily breathed out a laugh. "Exceedingly well."

Idly running a hand through his wife's hair, Hotch let his eyes fall closed one last time. "You said it yourself; tomorrow's a brand new day, with brand new excitement and brand new adventures. Let's get some sleep now."

"Before Avery wakes us up again."

Hotch's laughter joined Emily's. "Yes, before she does." Slowly, lovingly, Hotch kissed Emily's lips with a tenderness that neither would ever forget. "Good night, my love."

"Good night, Aaron."

And at that, both husband and wife fell into contented sleep, comforted by the knowledge that everything would be alright.

**THE END.**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Words cannot describe how beautiful - yes, beautiful - a time I've had writing this story, and I can only hope that you've ultimately enjoyed reading it. Thank you sincerely for taking the time to do so; and I know it's been hard, but I must thank you for being able to see the beauty amidst the darkness. That takes a skill of its own.<strong>**

****If you can, please leave me a review, _even if you haven't before_. Reviews are fanfiction writers' only sense of compensation, and they really do mean the world to us - to me. ****Signed or anonymous, short or long, I treasure your reviews like the finest gold. ************Also, reviewer #380 will get a oneshot written for the prompt of their choice!****

****Thank you again!****


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